Brutal Harry
by LordsFire
Summary: Systematically abused and degraded children do not suddenly turn into well-adjusted members of society when removed from the abusive situation. Nor do they tend to be very trusting of others, or forgiving. Sequel up.
1. Prologue

AN: ALL READERS SHOULD READ OPENING AN. Important story notices will appear here; I'll be endeavouring to keep my pontifications largely to the end notes to avoid loading down readers.

This is the revised (improved) version; I'm posting this as a joint aspect to posting the sequel. Some of the errors I found in the old version were downright appalling, so hopefully this will be an easier read this time around. My plan is to post two chapters of the revised version a day until the sixteenth, which is the one year anniversary of Brutal Harry's last chapter being posted, at which point I will post the last chapter (epilogue), and the first chapter of the sequel. That's right, unless something goes wrong, the first chapter of the sequel will be up in one week. Now on with the (revised) story.

((()))

Harry Potter tucked his head between his arms, and clasped his hands over the back of his neck. Rolling around, he tried to keep his legs facing the heavier hitters; they wouldn't hit hard enough to break his shins, but he'd ended up spitting and shitting blood once before when he'd taken a few too many hits below his ribcage. He felt a fifth set of kicking feet join in his attackers; Piers must have determined no one was going to run for a teacher, and left his look-out duties behind to join in on the 'fun'.

Around the schoolyard of Little Whinging Primary School, a few children stole occasional glances at the second formers beating up on what looked like a first form student, but for the most part ignored the gang of bullies picking on their favorite victim. They all knew well enough that drawing attention to it would only draw attention to themselves, and the last girl who had done that had transferred out rather than face the consequences. Dudley Dursley's father was in with the Principal _and_ the Superintendant, and none of the other teachers cared enough to stick their necks out by going over their heads to the Ministry of Education.

Eventually, the bell rang, and after a few final kicks for good measure, Harry's attackers slouched off towards class. Harry kept himself curled up protectively for another half minute or so, making sure they weren't waiting for him to expose his face to a cheap shot; they'd done it before, and it was hard to fix his glasses. Gradually, after he regained his senses from the beating enough to hear the lack of heavy breathing around him, he uncurled himself and sat gingerly up, looking around the schoolyard. Tears streaked the inside of his glasses, distorting his vision, so he took them off and wiped them on his shirt.

He put them back on his face, and the right lens was streaked with blood. Inspecting his hands, he found that at some point one of the larger boy's kicks had split the skin on his right hand while slamming it up against his head. Harry wiped his glasses again, this time taking care to keep the blood on his right hand off of the lenses, then replaced them again. This time he could clearly see the schoolyard around him. Empty, as he expected.

The most remarkable thing about the schoolyard was himself, and the bloodstains he was leaving on the pavement. Again.

And he was alone.

Again.

Shuddering with pent up emotion, Harry grit his teeth as new tears threatened to stream forth, and choked them down with a fierce, hot anger. Lurching to his feet, Harry wobbled dangerously for a moment, before snarling, a strange and chilling expression on his little six-year-old face, and stalking towards the school building with a purpose.

_I will never cry again._ He silently promised himself.

((()))

It had been three days since Harry had eaten, or had anything to drink that hadn't come from the garden hose. It would be two more before he was permitted food again. Aunt Petunia's garden, which he was quickly becoming intimately familiar, while he worked his tired and aching hands between the various desired plants and removed the weeds, consisted mostly of flowers and other purely aesthetic plants, but there were a few vegetables as well.

Those vegetables, even covered in dirt as they were, looked very, very tasty to Harry. Looking up and around, Harry made sure his Aunt was not watching. Dudley was at the Polkiss' place, Vernon was at work (even though it was a Saturday), but he still checked around his entire line of sight in case the nosy neighbours were spying again. As best as he could tell, the coast was clear.

Moving hurriedly and furtively, Harry stripped half a dozen beans from one of the common green bean bushes, attempting to pick ones that were less visible, and ate them, hardly chewing enough to cram the vegetables down his small throat. Shaking with fear, he quickly shifted his attention back to weeding the garden. It was nearly a half an hour before he calmed down enough to stop trembling, and he almost threw up the little he had eaten because of all the nervous tension.

A week later, when Petunia discovered the stripped bean stems, she told Vernon. Vernon beat Harry 'for stealing food,' for 'defying him,' and for 'being a no-good freak,' until he threw up everything in his stomach, locked him in his cupboard for a day, then forbade him food for another week. It took three days after that beating before Harry stopped seeing red in his urine.

((()))

Harry uncurled in the schoolyard again. This time his glasses did not need to be wiped free of tears, though a few had still leaked down the side of his face. He used those escaped tears as fuel for anger at himself, and the world at large, to drive away the pain. Although his glasses were clear of tears, he still checked his hands to make sure they were not bleeding again before he stood up and proceeded into the school building. Unlike the aftermath of the previous beatings he had endured, this time he slunk off towards the kitchen's back entrance, rather than the first form classrooms.

The kitchens had two sets of doors leading directly outside, one a man-sized set of double-doors, the other a set of freight-sized double doors, beside which the school dumpsters resided. Limping up to the dumpsters as quietly as he could, Harry listened for a few moments to the noises emanating from the kitchens, and after determining as best as he knew how that no one would be leaving the kitchens soon, he opened the top of one of the dumpsters, and climbed in.

Half an hour later, a pair of kitchen workers dumped a series of trash bags into the dumpsters, not bothering to look inside as they did so. Harry waited for the workers to move back inside, then tore open each bag in sequence until he found what he was looking for: Bread. He immediately devoured as much of the day-old loaf as he could, the rancid odor of rot surrounding him in the dumpster not deterring his appetite in the least. Four days into his second week without food this month, his stomach had shrunk to the point where he could only eat three slices.

Crushing nearly a half-loaf into as compact a ball as he could, Harry placed it in his mouth to soak in his saliva, then paused to listen. After a moment, he peaked up out of the dumpster, and seeing no one around, clambered out, then limped back around the school towards one of the entrances that students were permitted to use. The clatter of the dumpster lid coming down, however, had drawn the passing notice of one of the Kitchen staff, who idly stepped to the back of the kitchen, and saw Harry's retreating form through the window set into the doors. Curious, and looking for something to do before clocking out time now that lunch was over, he stepped outside and took a peek inside the dumpsters, seeing the bags of food Harry had torn open.

The kitchen worker passed on his concerns about some poor sod having to raid the garbage for food to the principal; the principal made an educated guess and called Vernon at work. Vernon called Petunia. Petunia locked Harry into his cupboard as soon as he returned from school. When Vernon returned from work. He beat Harry for daring to break his enforced fast, for making him look bad in front of his old schoolmates, and for 'being a no-good freak son of no-good freakish parents.'

This time Harry managed not to throw up what he had eaten, but three bones in the fingers of his right hand were broken protecting his stomach. Vernon deciding breaking the boy's bones and leaving them unsplinted was sufficient punishment in lieu of making him throw up what he had eaten again. This time it was a week before Harry stopped pissing blood.

The kitchen worker was laid off, with no explanation given.

((()))

Harry stared blindly at Petunia's garden as he worked it over for weeds and parasites again, avoiding looking at the bean plants for as long as he could. He managed to avoid it for quite a while; he could barely work half as fast with the broken bones in his right hand. Eventually though, he was forced to work around the leafy bean plants, and his hands trembled in fear the entire time, painfully jostling the cracked bones in his right hand, and he got the dry heaves and had to stop working several times, waiting for them to pass. His week without food had been reset after he had been caught dumpster diving, and it had been four days since the bread.

In desperation, Harry eventually tore up handfuls of grass from behind the car port, and swallowed it. That night, he began frothing at the mouth and vomited up a mixture of grass and stomach acid. When Petunia found the vomit in the morning, she snarled at Harry that he had better clean it up before Vernon found out. Vernon smelled the stench from the cupboard as he passed it on his way towards the breakfast Harry was cooking him, and Harry was saved a beating only by Vernon's lack of time before work.

At the end of the day, when Harry was back from school, and Vernon from work, Vernon did something new, he lashed Harry with his belt rather than simply beat him with his fists. The pain was excruciating, especially where welts were laid atop the bruises he already had from his most recent beating. Harry went another week without food, even though he had not been able to gain any nutritional value from the grass he had tried to eat. Fortunately, the lashing, while painful, did not aggravate his already abused internal organs, and Harry stuck out the rest of his term without food in stoic silence.

Petunia worried, though she did not let on to anyone else, that the only reason Harry survived the protracted starvation, was due to his magical nature.

((()))

The next day at school, Harry ran from Dudley and his gang of bullies like he never had before. It hurt to simply sit or lay on the welts that covered his chest and buttocks, and he was still peeing blood. He did not want to know how much worse Dudley and his 'friends' could make things. That day in the cooling October air, for the first time, he ran not for fear of pain, but for fear of his life. His body was weak, starved, and damaged, but his drive to survive gave him an insurmountable edge over the out of shape bullies who pursued him for cheap thrills.

For the first time he could remember, he escaped Dudley and his bullies when they set out after him, and learned his first lesson of survival: Always be the fastest.

By this point, his attendance of after-break classes was so infrequent that teachers did not bother to note his absence from their classes during that period, so Harry, exhausted but feeling a strange and unfamiliar sense of satisfaction, lurched off to the library, to try to find out why he could not eat grass, and what else he _could_ try to eat.

End Prologue Part 1.

((()))

Now eight years old, Harry surveyed the roof of the school around him, keeping utterly quiet to avoid notice from Dudley and his gang, with their two new members, below. Two of Dudley's old gang members had moved over the summer, so he had recruited two more, and his greatest exercise of his largely neglected mind, had specifically set out to recruit a pair of boys who were _not_ as fat and lazy as he was, for pretty much the sole purpose of being able to catch Harry and hold him down long enough for Dudley to start beating on him.

Panic had set in when he had been cornered by the dumpsters; eight year old muscles, especially on a boy as broad as Dudley, could do a lot more damage than six-year-old muscles could, and Harry knew Dudley's character well enough to realize that the fat bully would do his best to bring two years of missed beatings back on Harry all at once. Five boys beating him all at once, one knowing he would be able to brag to his parents about it, as well as take out two years of frustration, was not something Harry was certain he could survive.

That was when Harry learned that speed alone was not enough. He still was unclear on how he had arrived on the roof of the school, but he was certain the great sense of pressure across his entire body that had preceded him arriving there was directly related, especially considering he had never felt anything like it before. It also violated everything he had learned about what was and was not possible in the world. Harry spent the rest of lunch period trying to figure out what had happened, before the bell rang, and he shimmied down a drain pipe to the ground, before heading off to the library to try to read up on suddenly being somewhere other than you had been a moment before.

((()))

When Vernon returned from work that evening, he had words with Dudley, and Harry endured another beating, and was assigned another week without food. Apparently suddenly disappearing was 'freakish.' From the way Vernon said it, Harry immediately realized that this was something more than the 'freakish' things Harry had supposedly done before. Harry was unsure just what the significance of the difference, but it was there.

That night, as Harry broke out of 'his' cupboard and set out into the night, he thought long and hard on just what the connection between the physically impossible and his uncle's obsession with 'freakishness' was. After scrounging a variety of herbs from places he knew they grew around Little Whinging and applying them to his bruise and welt-covered body, he eventually came to the conclusion that became his second axiom of life and war: Knowledge is power, both the knowledge that one does possess, and the knowledge that one doesn't. That which you knew could be used to your advantage, and that which you did _not_ know could cost you dearly.

((()))

It was a month of after-recess periods in the library before Harry came to the conclusion that if there was any science that covered what he had done to get himself up on the school roof, he wasn't going to find it in an elementary school library. And that meant that whatever it was, it was not something he should have been capable of triggering completely unintentionally, with no equipment, and no knowledge of how such a thing worked. To everything he knew, this was not natural, and Vernon liked throwing around 'unnatural' almost as much as he liked throwing around 'freakish.'

So, in the greatest traditions of the scientific process, Harry decided to attempt to understand this unknown via the scientific method: Experimentation.

((()))

Harry looked around the compact space between the dumpsters and the school building that he had disappeared from, and mentally reconstructed the scenario that had led to his disappearance. Dudley and his cronies had gotten their hands on a new hand-held game system, and thus today was an 'off' day for the bullying, one Harry fully intended to take advantage of, to the absolute best of his ability. Moving himself carefully into the exact position he had been in as best as he could remember, he closed his eyes, and fixed his attention on the roof.

"Up," He said quietly to himself.

Nothing happened.

"Damn," Harry said, opening his eyes and scowling up at the sky as it began to rain.

((()))

Harry again positioned himself, this time wearing the same set of thread-bare hand-me-downs he had worn on that day, and closed his eyes to concentrate.

_Up_, He thought.

Nothing happened.

"Damn," Harry said.

((()))

Harry placed himself again, this time wearing the same clothes, with the temperature being as close as he could to what last month's paper had said it had been on that day, and closed his eyes to concentrate.

Nothing happened.

Then he opened his eyes, because he didn't remember closing them before appearing on the roof, and concentrated again.

Nothing.

"Damn," Harry muttered.

((()))

It wasn't until after Christmas break that Harry turned his literary investigations into what had happened towards the fiction section of the library, specifically to fantasy fiction. It did not take him long to pick up the most serious-looking piece of writing there, "The Eye of the World." It took him three weeks of reading in his 'library' periods to work his way through the massive book, a fair amount of that time spent with a dictionary expanding his vocabulary.

There was one theme to the magic of that world that he found that he had not attempted to tie into his experimentation at all yet; emotion. Desperation, fear, anger, powerful emotion was a driving theme in the untrained magic use of the main character. If this _was_ the supernatural, then he certainly was untrained in its use, and this was not something he had thought to attempt before.

((()))

Harry stood between the wall of the school and the back of the dumpster, and tried to recall the fear that had driven him during the autumn chase. It was not as simple as he expected; the fear hid away from his conscious mind, not wanting to come open and alive within him. For several long minutes, Harry simply stood there, shocked and confused at things that rebelled within him, and his under-sized body began to tremble as the fear washed through him in spite of his own subconscious desire to hide from it.

But then his eyes began to wet with tears and a spike or rage shot through him like a thunderburst, and the fear was scoured from his system by an overwhelming tide of fury. Snarling aloud, Harry focused on where he was, then on the roof, and _twisted_, and then...

Pressure.

Harry was on the roof.

End Prologue Part 2.

((()))

Nine years old now, Harry held himself in a tight ball, and _focused_. He could feel it within him, moving in spastic spurts and starts to his force of will. He could summon the energy at will now, after two years of late nights alone in his cupboard, not paying attention in class, and attempting to multi-task as he performed his chores. Unfortunately, he could not direct it very well, though he could shape it to a purpose if his concentration was not broken.

The sheer number of beatings he had earned due to his distractions while multi-tasking on his chores had taught him to focus no matter the pain he experienced. Now, he carried the fruit of those painfully earned lessons in the magical energy imbued along the flesh of his back, absorbing most of the blows Vernon rained down upon him. It wasn't enough yet though, Harry could only maintain the shield over so much of his body at once, and he would not be satisfied until he could protect his entirety all at once.

So Harry held himself in a defensive ball, and focused as his uncle attempted, again, to 'beat the freakishness out of him.' The lack of bones breaking, and the fact that blood merely dribbled rather than splattered, combined with Harry's lack of vomiting, drove Vernon to beat Harry until he exhausted himself. After half an hour of violence, Vernon hurled Harry, who was still curled into a defensive ball, into 'his' cupboard and locked the door.

Harry crashed into the side of the cupboard head-first, and the blow stunned Harry, who had been focusing his protection on his back, and several moments passed in dazed pain before Harry was able to pull himself into some semblance of order. It wasn't much of a semblance, maintaining focus for so long had mentally exhausted him, but he was bleeding again, and he did not intend to let that go to waste.

Groaning slightly as he twisted around, painfully stretching his abused flesh, Harry cribbed his slightly misshapen right hand over to begin smearing the droplets of blood he'd left on the floor around, writing in a written language that was a horrific butchery of anything a half-way decent linguist had ever known. It was also completely unique to Harry, as he was still in the process of inventing it.

As the stress and demands of the moment faded, and the light creeping in under the Cupboard door flicked off when his aunt and uncle went to bed, grief and pain began to well up within Harry's heart. It was, he had learned from some of the more advanced books in the library, a common after-affect of intensely stressful situations; the human mind and body would go into survival mode and shut down extraneous thoughts and emotions until the crisis had passed. Then, as the urgency and demands of the moment faded, everything that was shunted aside would come pouring back in. It was, in essence, a form of shock.

Harry had considerable experience with such unpleasantness himself, and fought tenaciously to concentrate on _useful_ things past them. He was developing three different skills with his magic; the first was the teleportation effect that had triggered his discovery of magic in the first place; the second was the protective magic he had focused on learning out of necessity; the third was something he was attempting to approach in an academic and analytical way (at least, as best a desperate and driven nine year old could). He had pored through dozens of different writer's fantasy works to try to find something he could do that was neither too spectacular to avoid notice, nor too insignificant to be useful. Interestingly enough, it had been the Bible that had set him onto this track, 'the life of a man is in his blood,' alongside the works of an obscure author, Jack Vance, who had invented a system of magic that functioned based on prepared and pre-charged spells.

What Harry was attempting was nothing like Vancian Magic, though it had drawn inspiration from it. He was attempting to store his magical energy outside of his body, via the medium of his blood, and if possible set it to a task, which he was attempting to shape with the characters he used. So far, he had been unable to properly store any energy; his blood would 'charge,' but the charge would gradually fade over time; at best, exhausting himself, he'd manage a charge that lasted a little over twenty-six hours. Shaping it to a purpose would have to wait until he knew how to provoke his magic to more tasks than simply travel and protection, though he had managed at least to force it to store in different 'shapes'.

While that branch of study had proved thus-far useless, between his rapidly-developing teleportation ability, and his protection, Harry Potter had become a firm believer in not only the existence of, but also the utility of, the supernatural. Even the attempts at storing magic in his blood served a purpose, though one he tried not to consciously think about: drawing his attention away from the pain of the present.

((()))

Rage coursed through Harry's young and undersized body as he glared harshly across the yard at Dudley and his gang. They had finally given up on chasing him after the first week of the school year; they hadn't caught him a single time the last term. So now they were picking new targets. A little blonde girl, who walked with a slight limp, one Harry knew from personal experience came from a not-yet-fully healed injury, and wore clothes that showed some signs of being hand-me-downs, though they fit her well. To Harry's disgust, those petty distinctions were sufficient to isolate her from the rest of the girls, and that left her exposed and alone to Dudley's predations. Cold fury burned in his veins as he watched them steal the girl's lunch, but everything within him screamed that the means of survival was avoiding attention and escaping the bullies, not provoking and antagonizing them.

Then Dudley backhanded the girl across the face, and Harry acted before he consciously realized he'd made a decision. His fist buried itself in Dudley's back, bruising the boy's kidney and knocking him off of his feet; punch delivered forward and upward, moving his center of mass behind blow. Piers Polkiss received a kick to the back of his right knee, then a sharp jerk on his shoulder to send him tumbling backward.

_An imbalanced enemy cannot strike effectively._

Harry lunged past the two boys he had already downed as the other bullies turned to face him, wrapping his arms around the girl in a tackle-hug, twisting as he knocked her over, and then disappeared.

They crashed down onto the school roof, the girl landing on top of Harry, before the rest of Dudley's pack of bullies had a chance to get a look at Harry's face. The girl, however, did. She was trembling, staring wildly around the roof in confusion, complete and utter bewilderment showing on her face.

"Wha-wha-wha?" She stuttered.

"I took you away from my cousin," Harry said quietly, "It looks like he's given up on seeking me as a target in favor of others. Please get off of me."

Abruptly realizing that she was on top of the smaller boy, she rolled off of him, and managed to sit upright despite how heavily dazed she was.

"What... What did you do?" She finally managed to get out.

"I took you away from my cousin," Harry repeated, standing up and moving towards the edge of the roof, very deliberately facing away from her, "Stay away from him. He's a bully. Stay away from me, I attract bullies' attention. I'm sorry."

Very carefully not facing the girl, Harry climbed down off the roof.

That was when Harry learned that he could not abide bullies, regardless of who they were picking on.

((()))

Harry was not surprised when he was sent directly to 'his cupboard' when he got back from school that afternoon; he knew Dudley hadn't seen that it was him, but he also knew that would not stop him from receiving the blame. He did not expect his uncle to _not_ immediately storm to the cupboard and rip the door open when he got home. Instead it was a good half hour before he was summoned out of the cupboard by his aunt to the kitchen.

He hesitated as he approached the doorway, instinct and experience both screaming how wrong the situation was. Desperately wishing he knew how to protect his entire body at once, he grasped his shoulders with his hands to protect his chest, and focused his magic on shielding his head, then stepped through the doorway into the kitchen.

A three-iron slammed into his forehead, the sheer force of impact from Vernon Dursley's powerful swing with the golf club bowling Harry over and splitting his scalp in spite of his defenses. As his brain was bounced within his own skull, his blood splattered across the hallway beside the stairs, a handful of drops touching the door of the cupboard. The last thing Harry saw before passing out, he was fairly certain was a side effect of the massive head trauma; after all, blood does not flow _up_.

((()))

When Harry next woke, it was a slow, gradual progression. It took some minutes for him to form a coherent awareness of his surroundings and pattern of thought. He was resting on a soft surface, covered in a blanket, but the air beyond the blanket was uncomfortably cool. He opened his eyes, and found himself, for the first time in living memory, on a bed. Judging by the impersonal cleanliness and white-dominated coloration of his surroundings, he was fairly certain he was in a hospital bed at that. Entering a hospital was another first for him.

He could also feel his internal energies raised to protect himself, without him needing to concentrate to maintain the effect. Frowning slightly, he focused on the sensations permeating his body, attempting to figure out what had changed. He spent perhaps half an hour attempting to delve his internal energies, and how they were distributed; eventually he came to the conclusion that whatever pathways his energy traveled through to assert his defensive reinforcement now held a default position of 'on' rather than 'off'. It had the downside of being weaker, as it was diffused through his entire body, but he was confident he could strengthen it given time.

Harry smiled, a somewhat grimly satisfied expression that carried a hint of a smirk with it as well.

((()))

It was three weeks before the hospital staff would release him to the care of his aunt. Police officers, medical personnel, and a few people Harry suspected were psychologists or counselors in the employ of the state attempted to get him to speak of his time at the Dursley's, but Harry would only ask questions. What was life like in the police force? How often did they deal with armed criminals? Did they receive unarmed combat training, or did they rely entirely upon their weapons? What was life like as a medical professional? How was the pay? What was medical school like? Was it worth it?

Eventually they gave up. When Harry returned to Number Four, Privet Drive, Petunia informed him he would now be staying in what had formerly been Dudley's second bedroom, and Vernon would not be returning to their house.

Harry did not ask why Vernon would not be returning.

So long as he never had to see the man again, he did not care.

End Prologue Part 3.

((()))

During Harry's sixth year at school, none of the bullies dared pick on him, and when he made it clear he would interfere if they ever physically assaulted anyone else, even if he only heard of it later, they restricted their bullying to verbal jabs. This was when Harry learned the power of Fear, and how he could wield it against his enemies. He spent the year ignoring his teachers in every class, instead studying the books he had gained access to at the Little Whinging Library.

Access to the school library was one of many things that had changed in his life. Almost the entire staff of the Little Winging Primary School had been sacked, the teachers for dereliction of duty, while the Principal and Headmaster had ended up in prison. Harry had been subjected to a battery of tests, a very _long_ battery of tests, when he had returned to school from the hospital. He had been informed at the outset of the testing, that his continued access to the school library was dependent on his performance, a move suggested by one of the psychologists that had attempted to work with him during his hospital stay, and this motivated him to actually perform to the best of his ability. Harry himself never heard of it, but the results shocked the child services personnel assigned to his case; the testing revealed a complete scattershot of knowledge, some of which was woefully behind his class level (history, geography), some of which was far ahead (reading level, mathematics, and more esoterics not usually taught in primary school, such as wilderness lore and other survival skills).

Simple observation also revealed an incredibly aggressive interest in fantasy fiction on his part, which was taken as a highly-developed form of escapism by the child services and new school staff. Several meetings between Petunia and child services personnel were held while Harry and Dudley were at school, and the Little Whinging Primary School library was deliberately seeded with a number of stories that tied into psychology studies, and psychology texts, in the hope of leading Harry towards a more developed understanding of his own traumatized condition.

Harry's relationship with Petunia also changed, she did not speak to him much, but she required no more from him than she did from Dudley, and ensured he had access to three meals per day. She did not always cook for him, but neither did she require him to cook for her and Dudley, and she very directly told him that so long as he did not waste food or eat to excess, he could use make full use of the kitchen between 8 AM and PM as he wished.

When she told him this, he could see a hint of fear, and a greater measure of relief in her eyes. This was when Harry learned that things are not always as they seem, as he realized that Petunia herself had been living in fear of Vernon for years. While he was glad of the far less tense and far more open home environment, aside from its direct consequences on himself, he put it out of his mind as not his business.

Most of Harry's time (that not spent reading) at Number 4 Privet Drive was now spent attempting to regain control of his internal power. Due to its constant investiture in protecting his body, he no longer had the discretionary energy free to teleport, and that infuriated Harry. He had become accustomed to the mobility teleportation offered him, and was far from fond of losing it; he had rapidly devised a series of mental exercises designed to increase his energy reserves in order to regain the ability. Mostly it consisted of reinforcing his protection in various places, and spending more time on his attempts to charge his magic into something using his blood. It was a bit easier to work on the floor of his new room, as he had more light available, but he had less free power to work with, and any energy he managed to charge into his blood continued to drain away.

He did make progress in increasing his reserves, but it was agonizingly slow, as something like half the power he gained was immediately diverted to his internal reinforcement. While he was glad of the strength added to his defenses, he would have much preferred to regain his teleportation ability first, _then_ reinforce his protections. It was better to avoid trouble, than have protection to help endure it. This was how Harry passed the year leading up to his eleventh birthday, though to his frustration, by the end of it, he could barely teleport across a room, and that only with great concentration. It was a far cry from the near-effortless town-crossing teleportation he had been capable of before, but it was better than nothing.

Everything changed on his eleventh birthday.

((()))

"Harry," Petunia said, "This is for you."

She handed an unusual letter across the breakfast table.

It bore classicly styled heraldry, with a quartet of creatures and a stylized H forming a crest, and contained a word that would dominate the next half decade of his life.

_Hogwarts._

((()))

The next weekend, Harry watched his Aunt drive out of sight, and then turned to the 'pub' in front of him, the Leaky Cauldron. He found it to be singularly unimpressive, and, tucking his hat further down over his head, walked directly into, through, and out of the establishment without making eye contact with a single patron or member of staff. Once he reached the reached the brick wall his Aunt had spoken of, he channeled his energy to his hand, and then tapped a particular order of bricks.

As he had hoped, his magically charged appendage made a suitable substitute for a wand, and the brick wall folded itself into an archway, revealing an open-air day market beyond. Diagon Alley, his Aunt had called it; Harry took a few moments to observe both it, and the mannerisms of the people within, then set about collecting supplies. He first stopped by a "Madam Malkin's" for robes, as he did not wish to draw attention to himself by being a member of the small minority wearing modern clothing rather than the archaic robes it seemed magical personages preferred.

The garment shop accepted his pounds, but recommended he proceed to Gringott's to exchange currency, as most others would not. Harry found his brief business with the Goblins to be eminently satisfying; they were quick, efficient, brooked no nonsense, and above all else, bore no false pretenses. Harry could appreciate that in a person. From Gringott's, he proceeded to systematically work his way across the Alley, picking up the various prescribed tools and implements, skipping the book store for now, until he entered Ollivander's, having acquired everything else on his list, save his wand, and his books.

"Ah," An unexpected voice called, "Mister Potter, I have been expecting you."

Harry stared up at the ponderously thin and tall man that had appeared before him, not blinking as the man's unusually large eyes studied him.

"Why?" Harry finally said.

"Ah," Ollivander said, "Every young witch or wizard in England comes to me for their first wand, and after the exceptional talents displayed by your parents, I have been greatly anticipating your arrival."

Harry simply nodded in response, and set about finding a wand that matched him. An hour later he left Ollivanders a few galleons lighter, one wand heavier, and disturbed at what he had learned of his parents' killer. Then Harry Potter, age eleven, turned his attention to "Flourish and Blott's," a bookstore.

Six hours later, he spent four trips packing all of the books he had purchased out from the store to the curb outside the Leaky Cauldron, twenty minutes after that his Aunt loaded him, and over two hundred pounds of books and supplies into her car, and they returned to Surrey. During the return trip, Harry tore through _An Introduction to the Many Uses of Magic_, a short, one hundred and fifty page text targeted towards those unfamiliar with Magic as a whole.

After returning to Privet Drive, it took Harry several trips to transport all of the books from the car to his room, immediately after which he read the introduction to each of the primary magical texts. After reading them, he began sorting his books by order of importance, Charms, Transfiguration, Runes, Potions, Arithmancy, then Defence Against The Dark Arts. From what he gathered, the last subject was simply an amalgamation of appropriate portions of other subjects as applied to dealing with 'Dark' Arts. After this initial run, Harry had three different texts that appeared to be promising commentaries or summations of more obscure subjects that he intended to research.

In the end, he decided that the various abilities offered by each branch of magical were simply too varied and overlapping for him to focus study by branch, and decided to focus by desired _effect_ instead. When he tried to decide which effects he desired, he very quickly realized that he just didn't know enough about what abilities he would _need_ to form a definitive list, all he'd ever faced before was his uncle, and schoolyard bullies.

So he decided to form a basic list of desired abilities, and work towards acquiring said abilities, while revising and updating the list at _least_ every month. His initial list was surprisingly short, especially since had already covered part of it; mobility, defense/durability, one offensive effect, and healing. The most important thing, he didn't need magic for in the first place, _information._

Because, as far as he was concerned, _knowing_ things was the most important power of them all.

End Prologue.

((()))

"The Art of War is of vital importance to the State. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or ruin, Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no account be neglected."

-Sun Tzu's Art of War, Chapter 1, Section 1-2.


	2. Chapter 1

((()))

Chapter 1: First Year.

Harry rode the Hogwarts express in silence, keeping his notorious scar concealed beneath a simple hat. Across from him, in the same compartment, a shy red-head sat, bored out of his mind; Harry ignored him and continued with his reading. _A History of Magic_ was not the most engaging of reads, but it gave an excellent broad-spectrum account of Magical England's background, and Harry had not quite managed to finish it yet.

Over the course of the journey to Hogwarts, a shy boy in search of a toad, a bushy-haired girl interested in his reading material, and a blonde boy full of arrogance all stopped by the compartment. Harry pointedly ignored them all, refusing to respond to any of them. He knew very well that he was famous within the Wizarding world, and experience had long since taught him that remaining out of sight as much as possible was desirable. The arrogant blonde had been infuriated with his refusal to acknowledge him, and he sensed the girl probably would have driven him harder to respond if she had not already had a task in front of her, but he was eventually left in peace.

Rain was pouring out of the sky in heavy drops when they arrived at the Hogsmeade station; Harry retrieved an umbrella from his trunk before leaving it for the House-Elves to move for him. Strangely, not a single other member of the student body departing the train seemed to have employed a similar device, or even to have dressed in a raincoat. Harry tucked that fact away for further consideration, then heeded the calls of the enormous man herding the first years towards a dock. Once at the dock, Harry managed to procure for himself a boat without accompaniment, by the simple expedient of waiting until all the other students had boarded, then entering an empty one.

Castle Hogwarts, backed by a stormy night sky and lit by internal fires, cut an impressive silhouette over the lake as they crossed, and Harry was glad that there was no one in the boat with him to notice the slip brief in his composure revealing how impressed he was. The castle ghosts appearing in the atrium was startling, but he had expected to encounter them at some point or another, and managed to retain an impassive front. The Great Hall was impressive, but non-magical architecture had long since replicated and surpassed any of the displayed feats, save for the enchanted ceiling, which Harry did not consider all that far beyond glass.

The Sorting Hat, however, caught him completely off-guard, and unsettled him. The sorting mechanism had been specifically omitted from the literature he had been able to study, and he was not pleased with the idea of an intelligent magical artifact rooting around in his brain, nor with his name being openly called in front of the student population, placing him as the center of attention. As the other first year students began to pass through the sorting, he thought furiously, mind straining for a way to mitigate the consequences of both becoming the center of attention, and potentially having something rummaging through his mind.

He could try to resist having his mind read, but he couldn't come up with any method likely to be even vaguely effective at avoiding having the majority of the student population associate his appearance with his fame. He did _not_ like that, but could see no way around it. Eventually, the Deputy Headmistress reading the roll reached the P's, and then...

"Potter, Harry."

The entire hall fell silent, and Harry felt the eyes of seven years of students, and five generations of teachers upon him. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he felt threatened from almost every conceivable direction simultaneously. His face, already an impassive mask, stiffened into a rock-hard countenance, and he strode purposefully across the room to where the Deputy Headmistress awaited with the Sorting Hat. Seating himself in a purposeful but unrushed manner, Harry warily prepared his mind to fend off magical intrusion.

"Not bad for someone with less than a month to the discipline, boy," The Sorting Hat whispered in his ear, "But it would take a true master of the mind to keep me out, and I haven't seen one of those in generations."

Harry cursed silently, and the Hat chuckled.

"Children like you try my patience lad," The Hat said, "The magic that enables and animates me also binds me; You are sorely abused and in desperate need of help, yet I cannot reveal anything of what I learn from within your mind. I tell you this to at least lay your fears that your secrets will become known at rest."

Harry remained silent.

"This is the part where you say 'thank you,' lad," The Hat said.

"...Thank you," Harry responded quietly after a few moment's thought.

"Right," The Hat said, "So then that brings us to our main purpose; sorting you. You could easily fit into Slytherin, you're more sneaky and subtle than any students I've sorted over there in years, but there'd be blood between you and the upper years by your second year, at the most. You could fit in Ravenclaw, you're certainly cerebral enough, but you seek knowledge as a means for an end, not for its own sake. You'd be wretched in Hufflepuff. You're gutsy enough for Gryffindor, but are far more likely to execute a discrete plan as an example of your courage, than an overt display of valor, which is not at all like the vast majority of that house these days; what am I to do with you?

_Which house would I draw the least notice in?_ Harry silently asked the hat.

"You'll draw attention no matter what house you enter, though Slytherin would easily put the most focus on you."

Harry thought silently for several long minutes before he directed his thoughts towards the Sorting Hat again, and it allowed him the time.

_Where would people see less of me as I actually am, and more fall into the trap of seeing what they expect?_

The Hat laughed again, for quite some time, before it spoke to Harry again.

"A real shame I can't put you in Slytherin," The Hat said, "You would be more a credit to Salazar's house than any since Lucius or perhaps even old Tom, before he went mad. If that's what you want though, it'd better be GRYFFINDOR!"

The last was shouted aloud, and Harry calmly lifted the hat off his head, handed it to the waiting deputy headmistress, and walked to the raucously cheering red and gold table.

((()))

Harry spent the rest of the feast giving polite, but very brief answers to the many people clamoring for his attention. Due to the sheer number of people constantly attempting to gain his attention, he was able to avoid answering anything but the shallowest of questions, and by and large deemed his attempt to be courteous, but distant, successful. When they ascended to their dormitories at the end of the feast, Harry successfully matched his mental map, formed from illustrations in the books he had read, to real experiences within the castle's interior.

In the dormitory itself, he pleaded fatigue, and ensconced himself within the curtained four-poster bed his trunk lay next to. Privacy and time to gather his thoughts, was something he found himself unexpectedly thirsting for, but it made sense, when he compared his customary pattern of living to this day where he had been surrounded by other people since shortly before noon. Being around people so much had been unexpectedly tiring. Over the course of less than a quarter of an hour, what had originally begun as an excuse to have time to himself and gather his thoughts, turned into reality, and Harry slipped under the covers of his new bed to sleep.

((()))

Harry found the first week of classes fascinating. Charms, he quickly found, were ludicrously easy, when he was not attempting spells years above the level he was supposed to perform at (having already experimented with the Shielding Charm at home). Transfiguration was difficult, because it had a fairly steep power requirement, and his energy reserves, while still steadily improving, were still a fraction of what they had been. Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic were both utter wastes of time; Harry focused on plowing his way through texts from the Hogwarts library during the otherwise-wasted periods, but sat in class so as not to draw attention by his absence. Herbology reminded him strongly of working in his Aunt's garden, except they were given a hands-on lesson in the properties and care requirements of the plants they were handling.

Most fascinating of all his lessons though, was the actual act of spellcasting. He could _feel_ the words and movements shape his magic into a purpose, and how his wand functioned as a natural channel for his magic to flow out of his body through. After his years spent trying to shape his magic into a purpose with his blood runes, and distributing and directing it about his body with his defensive work, it was child's play to handle the simple first-year charms the class was taught. Transfiguration was even more educational, as when he concentrated, he could feel his magic permeating and changing the objects he worked with, something Harry very quickly set aside his more academic studies to spend time practicing and experimenting with out of class.

Potions, at the end of the week, was something else entirely. Severus Snape, the professor, was blatantly and aggressively antagonistic, making no attempt to conceal either his dislike for Harry, or his disdain for Gryffindor house in general. By the end of the single double-length class, Harry already hated the man. He despised bullies; some of the teachers in Surrey had been real hard cases, but none had been blatant bullies, they simply turned a blind eye to the predations of others. Severus Snape did both, and as Harry watched the man push around his 'students' Harry had already replaced the term with 'victims' in his mind.

By the end of his first Potions class he had already tooled his displayed personality around Snape's classroom as submissive, and eager to please, something that infuriated him to do. It kept the bully's attention focused on him rather than his classmates however, and Harry decided silently to count that as a personal victory. It would be one of very few he encountered that year.

((()))

"Up," Harry said, and watched as the broom beneath his hand did nothing. Acting upon a suspicion, he exercised one of the skills he had been developing since his first Transfiguration class, and extended a tendril of magic from his hand, something he never would have thought to do before his Hogwarts education began, and touched it to the broom.

"Up," He said again, willing the broom to his hand. It rose smartly to his hand. Testing his theory, he willed the broom to stay in place silently, then retracted his hand slightly, keeping a tendril of his magic in contact with the magical item, then willing the broom to move slightly on each of the three axes of three-dimensional space. It responded as he desired, albeit slightly sluggishly. Returning his hand to the broom, Harry refocused his attention on the instructor, Madam Hooch, who was correcting Draco Malfoy's grip on his broom. Harry carefully aped the grip she displayed.

"Now!" Hooch announced, turning to the class as a whole, "We will kick off the ground, rise slightly, then return to the ground. Carefully and slowly, this is intended as nothing more than to get a feel for your brooms, I will _not_ tolerate tomfoolery or showing off for your friends!"

Hooch swept a baleful gaze across the students, before nodding sharply.

"Now," She said, "Mount your brooms, and then do as I have instructed on three! One! Two! Thre-"

Someone had jumped the gun. Harry watched quietly as Neville Longbottom unintentionally kicked off the ground early in a fit of nervousness, then lost control of his broom. A few seconds of altitude gaining and lost grip later, Harry closed his eyes in sympathy as he clearly heard Neville's right Ulna dislocate, while the Radius snapped, and the wrist was dislocated. Harry opened his eyes, and forcibly reminded himself that the boy was lucky; a fall of over twenty feet could easily be fatal, especially for a boy somewhat overweight like Longbottom.

Harry watched silently as Hooch threatened the class if they misbehaved while she was absent, then levitated the groaning boy, and carted him off to the hospital wing. Harry understood the kind of pain Longbottom was in; Vernon had very carefully never broken any of Harry's limbs, but he had suffered more than one broken toe or finger, and he was uncertain to this day whether his ribs had merely been cracked, or outright broken, on a number of occasions.

The instant that Hooch was out of sight, the other students broke out into excited gossiping and rumor-mongering, and Harry took advantage to take stock of the character of the first years from other houses, as well as their social power structures. Slytherin was simple; social status and physical power functioning in alliance, headed by Draco Malfoy. Ravenclaw was also simple; it was a collection of nerds with no sufficiently unifying factor to result in anything more than loose social associations. Gryffindor was tempermental, and experience and observation had already taught him that leadership amongst the crowd would pass to whoever appeared to have the most daring and force of will at a given moment.

Hufflepuff confused him; they clustered together speaking to each other in a friendly manner, none of them having a clear agenda or direction. Perhaps they had not yet fallen into a solidified social structure? He would have to observe them more in the future. Then Malfoy decided to attempt to assert dominance over his entire year, rather than simply his fellow Slytherins.

"Hey look," Malfoy said derisively, "It's Longbottom's Remembrall."

_Dominance play,_ Harry silently thought, _showing he is willing to flaunt authority and lord himself over his peers. If he is not stopped now, he will gain the upper hand in all power struggles until someone asserts dominance directly over him._

"So it is," Harry said firmly, striding with deliberately affected confidence over to Malfoy, "If you give it to me, I will return it to him the next time I see him."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he met Harry's gaze, and Harry stared back purposefully. _Do not show weakness to a predator,_ Harry thought to himself, presenting an entirely calm and unaffected facade.

"No," Malfoy said, and Harry could see the boy calculating his perceived strength relative to Harry's, "I don't think I will. I think I'll hide it for Longbottom; perhaps see how good he is at climbing trees?"

With that, Malfoy hopped onto his broom, and, with some skill, rose up off the ground towards one of the nearby trees on the Hogwarts grounds. Harry closed his eyes for a second, suppressing the urge to sigh. He had hoped he would not need to do anything particularly demonstrative, but he was unwilling to allow a bully to set himself on the top of this school's social circle. Reaching backwards without looking, Harry extended a tendril of magic to where he had left his broom, and summoned it to his hand. Breaking into a run, and then leaping as it reached him, he landed squarely on the broom, and fed his magic into the object, willing himself towards Malfoy as swiftly as he could.

Harry was not aware of it, but brooms were designed to function upon the magic the enchantments already held within them, and only need sufficient contact with their rider's magic to be controlled. Harry was not a broom-crafter, nor an enchanter of any variety, and did not know appropriate ways to power the variants of flight, sticking, and control spells used in broom crafting, and as such the moderate amount of power he fed into the broom largely went to waste. Energy has to go somewhere, and magical energy, unlike wasted energy of more mundane varieties, tended to discharge itself in a manner reflecting the intent behind it. Harry desired thrust, and his self-education through primary school had included how jet and rocket engines work, thus a small portion of his power actually accelerated his broom, while the rest recoiled out of the back of his school-issued broom in the form of a pressure wave.

Harry rocketed up away from the ground, blasting loose earth and grass into the air behind him, several loose twigs off the tail of the broom breaking free and impaling themselves in the earth. Malfoy turned on his broom to see what the disturbance behind him was, eyes locking on Harry's focused and frighteningly calm expression as the Gryffindor drew almost half-again the speed out of his broom that Malfoy had managed from his own. Panicking slightly, the subconscious effects of Harry's intimidating approach warred with Malfoy's hunger to control the situation and lord himself over his peers. It took him less than a second to decide on a compromise.

"Catch," He said, pushing as much of a sneer into his voice as he could while he spoke, hurling the Remembrall towards the nearby castle wall. Sparing a moment to pointedly snort dismissively at Malfoy, Harry whipped his broom around, the backwash of his passage as he turned almost tumbling Malfoy off of his broom, and raced towards the Remembrall. Quickly determining both that it would fall short of the castle wall, and that he would be able to reach it before it struck the ground, Harry was forced to make a snap decision as to how to make the catch, and his years of deep-seated and restrained anger nudged him into choosing the more aggressive choice, in order to make a show of it and assert his superior strength over Malfoy.

Diving rapidly, he then came up underneath the sphere, his backwash kicking up a cloud of dust as it blasted against the earth, then pulled up and caught the falling sphere, before flipping over backwards to break his collision course with the castle, pulling into a backwards and upside-down descent towards the other students, rolling over on his broom as he did so. Aligning himself carefully, he landed almost exactly where he had taken off from, in the middle of a still-settling dust cloud, then strode calmly back to his place in amongst the Gryffindors, not saying a word.

"Wicked, mate!" A red-headed Gryffindor Harry recognized as Ronald Weasley said, his words breaking the silence of the other students who began to speak excitedly amongst themselves as soon as the ice was broken, "Where'd you learn to fly?"

"That was my first time," Harry said simply.

Fortunately for Harry, only the Gryffindors were paying direct attention to him at this point heard him, and so only a half-dozen students stared at him in stupefied disbelief, rather than the entire class. The shocked stares of the Gryffindor's who had grown up in the magical community were interrupted by the appearance of their head of house, storming out of the castle.

"Mister Potter!" She bellowed in a voice that had taken on a strong hint of Scottish brogue, "Niver in all my years at Hogwarts!" She cut herself off, then began anew.

"Come with me at once!" She commanded, her voice shifting back into her more customary clear enunciation, "And bring that broom!"

"Excuse me," Harry said quietly to his classmates, and strode quickly after McGonagall, struggling to keep up with the rapid strides of her longer legs without scurrying.

McGonagall did not speak as she led him through the castle, the only sound that of their shoes striking the corridor floor, and as she did not initiate conversation, Harry did not speak either. After a couple of minutes, they reached an occupied classroom, and Harry stood quietly as the deputy headmistress interrupted the class.

"Excuse me Professor Vector," She said, "Could I borrow Wood for a few minutes?"

"Certainly," The young Arithmancy instructor said, "Just give him back when you're done with him."

A moment later, a heavily-built fifth-year Harry had only seen in passing stepped out of the class-room, and McGonagall closed the door behind him.

"Wood," She said with mostly-restrained excitement, "I have found you a Seeker."

Harry could hear the capital letter in the title, but did not know why the term raised such excitement in the older student.

"He's got the build," Wood said, looking Harry up and down excitedly, then inspecting the broom in his hand with some repugnance, "I hope that's not the broom you intend him to use though, school brooms are rubbish."

"Of course not," McGonagall said decisively, "We'll have to acquire a Cleansweep Seven, or perhaps a Nimbus 2000 for him," Redirecting her attention from Wood to Harry, she continued "Mister Potter, what did you do to pull such a performance from that broom? The brooms have not been replaced since _I _was a student here, and I am quite certain it should not have been able to move so swiftly.

Harry took a moment to consider his response, during which Wood indicated with a gesture he would like to inspect the broom, and Harry handed it to him. The moment the broom changed hands, and lost contact with his magic, it shuddered slightly, and more than half the bristles fell off, clattering to the floor between them.

"Oh my," McGonagall said, staring at the mess of twigs on the floor, before turning back to Harry, "Whatever did you do to that broom, mister Potter?"

Harry affected a surprised stare at the broom for a few moments to buy himself some time to think.

"I willed it to go faster," Harry said, deciding an incomplete truth was probably the most effective answer, "It was my first time on a broom, so I am unsure if I did something wrong."

Harry, in what he expected was a very rare occurrence, was privileged to see McGongall's face display genuine, open shock.

"You performed a loop, and a single-handed roll _your first time on a broom_ mister Potter?" McGongall asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

"Yes," Harry said, somewhat timidly, deciding to reinforce his role as an average student, "I'm sorry, I know I wasn't supposed to use the broom while Madam Hooch was gone, but Malfoy was messing with Neville's Remembrall, and I don't like bullies, and..."

McGonagall cut off his accelerating rant with a gesture.

"Don't worry young man," She said kindly, "I quite understand, and am exceptionally happy to have discovered a skilled Seeker for Gryffindor."

Wood nodded emphatically, appearing to Harry too excited to manage a coherent word, which was fortunate, as Harry had an important question to ask.

"What is a Seeker?" He asked, affecting innocent curiosity in his tone and body language.

Wood's excitement changed to shocked horror, McGonagall's expression displayed surprise, and then humor after glancing at the sheer horror on Wood's face.

"You don't know what a _Seeker_ is?" Wood demanded, horrified, "How can you not know the single most important role on a Quidditch team?"

"Well," Harry said simply, "It probably has to do with me not knowing what Quidditch is."

Wood's horrified expression changed to one of near-despair, and he began to stutter, struggling vainly for coherent speech.

"Quidditch," McGonagall said, her voice full of warm amusement, "Is the premier sport of magical Britain, and the Seeker is the most pivotal role in the game, as when they catch the Golden Snitch, their team receives one hundred and fifty points, and the game ends."

"And you'd only be the youngest Seeker to play in a recognized team in a hundred years!" Wood finally managed to burst out, "And if you can pull decent stunt-flying on your _first_ time on a broom, you'll be a cracking good one too!"

"Oh," Harry said quietly, then after a moment's thought, "Is Quidditch a spectator sport?"

"Yes," Wood said, confused at the question.

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline then," Harry said courteously, "I wouldn't wish to draw attention to myself."

Wood had transcended horror and despair, moving into sheer disbelief as he stared in utter bewilderment at Harry, while McGonagall raised a hand to her mouth to hide her smile, fighting back giggles that would be _most_ unbecoming for one of her age and position

"NOT PLAY?" Wood bellowed in shocked outrage, "HOW? What? WHY?"

The classroom door was thrown open, and a vastly un-amused Professor Vector glared out at Wood, who did not even notice her presence in his state of distress. Harry sighed, knowing that this encounter was going to be all over the school by the end of the day, and quickly came to the only conclusion he considered reasonable at this point.

"I suppose I could give it a try," He said reasonably, "If it's all that important. Is it very good for physical fitness?"

"Quite," McGonagall said, not bothering to keep the amusement from her tone, "Professional Quidditch players are probably the fittest of all wizards in Magical Britain."

"I suppose it's an acceptably productive use of time then, so long as it does not interfere with my studies overly much," Harry allowed, "Will there be anything else professor?"

McGonagall glanced at the gibbering Wood, and the irritated and confused Vector for a moment, her own smile coming back in full force.

"No mister Potter," She said, "You may return to your class."

"Thank you Professor," Harry said, nodding to her, and left.

((()))

At Harry's first Quidditch practice, he spent his first half hour on the pitch, first locating the Snitch, then trying to discern the pattern of its movements. He was unable to come to any solid conclusions about what governed it, but it reacted noticeably whenever one of the other players spotted it, zipping away from them in a flurry of evasive maneuvers. After the first half hour, Wood insisted he practice actually chasing the Snitch, which he cautiously did, not wanting to destroy the broom that Wood had convinced one of the other fifth years to lend him. He very quickly discovered that brooms simply required contact with his power for guidance, and nothing more, though he only got marginally better speed than most others when he actually channeled his own power into a broom.

He wished he had the ability to set up a regimented series of experiments, but he would need an array of brooms to accomplish such, something he lacked. Several more practices passed in a similar matter, Wood apparently believing in a minimum of three practices a week, each as long as he could convince McGonagall to book the pitch for, usually three or four hours. His status as a new player on the Quidditch team, much as he had expected, resulted in him becoming something of a hero amongst the Gryffindors, ruining any chance of safe anonymity he had hoped for. He had recognized that being able to recede into anonymity after being a mysterious celebrity for ten years had been unlikely, but he was now being forced to recognize he would not defeat the long odds.

Instead, he attempted a misinformation campaign, rather than the lack-of-information campaign he had hoped to execute to conceal his abilities. Harry quickly determined that the straight-laced nerd image would suit him best, something he would not have thought a believable front with him in Gryffindor house, save for the presence of Hermione Granger, and her already-infamous obsessive study habits. Most seemed irritated, rather than impressed by her prodigious abilities, but he was certain her abrasive personality was a large part of that. By the end of the second week of classes, and his first on the Quidditch team, he had determined that he would display academic performance roughly mid-way between that of Granger and most of the other Gryffindors, and excel in control at practical magic, but display little in the way of power.

Between his status as the 'Boy-Who-Lived,' and apparent Quidditch prodigy, he knew he would be expected to show some degree of higher-than-normal ability, and figured that a marginally-powerful intellectual would be the least threatening way of fulfilling such expectations he could present. At the end of his second week, just as Harry was beginning his process of incrementally raising his grades from 'mediocre,' to 'outstanding,' that McGonagall asked for him to speak with her in her office after dinner.

((()))

"Mister Potter," McGonagall said kindly, gesturing to a seat across from her desk, "Please have a seat. I asked you here today for three reasons."

Harry calmly seated himself across from the elderly educator.

"The first," She said, frowning slightly, "Is that as much as it would pain me to lose such a talented player for our Quidditch team, I wish to ensure that you are not simply joining the team due to peer pressure."

Harry blinked in surprise; it had not even occurred to him that a teacher would be concerned with such things.

"No," He replied promptly, "My initial reluctance was, as I said, a lack of desire to draw attention to myself. There are, no doubt, many talented young witches and wizards amongst my contemporaries, and I already draw far too much attention for what happened ten years ago. It would be far too easy for me to unintentionally over-shadow their deserving achievements with lesser accomplishments of my own."

McGonagall's eyes widened with surprise.

"That's surprisingly well-thought out and mature of you," She said after a moment, "Who taught you to think of such things?"

"I studied psychology, and the part of it dealing with social attitudes towards celebrities," Harry said simply, and McGonagall nodded, having some conceptual familiarity with the muggle discipline.

"Well," McGonagall said happily, "That resolves the first issue nicely. The second is that I am somewhat concerned with your grades," Her tone became more stiff as she continued, "They have been improving, but are still somewhat sub-standard."

"I am accustomed to taking the scientific approach to my studies," Harry replied calmly, "Due to inexperience with the subject matter, I am not yet performing very well. I believe you can expect consistent, gradual improvement until I am fully familiar with the basics of each subject."

Minerva nodded slowly, "The other professors have informed me that you have a more-than-adequate proficiency with applied magic, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt on this. If your grades do not continue to improve, however, we will have to speak of this again. Do you understand?"

Harry met her gaze evenly, and nodded.

"Very well then. The last thing, Mister Potter," McGonagall said with a smile, "Is this."

Reaching behind her desk, McGonagall withdrew a sleek new broom, with gold engraving across the handle reading 'Nimbus 2000.'

"I waited until Wood informed me that you had whatever it was that damaged the school broom under control before investing with this," She said with a smile, "At this point I am fairly certain that it was largely the inferior nature of the current school brooms that caused it to fail."

She handed the broom across the desk to him, and indicated that he could leave.

"Do Gryffindor proud, Mister Potter," She said as he left.

((()))

His third week in Hogwarts, Harry discovered not through field experience, but from the library, how Snitches functioned; they were enchanted to be sensitive to magical auras. Magic was intent-based, Harry learned, and Snitches fled (or evaded, or any number of varieties depending on how the individual enchanter crafted the Snitch) from _any_ magical intent that focused on them. The discovery that magic was intent-based both intrigued and frustrated Harry, he would have thought it would have been mentioned in his 'basic' text-books, considering it was such a critical aspect of the basics of wielding one's magic.

After sifting through library's shelves for a few hours, Harry ended up with a pair of books on 'accidental' magic, and from them he learned more about the fundaments of magic than all the other texts he had read so far combined. The first was actually about the dangers of accidental magic, it described the 'magical core', described the basics of just _what_ spells were, a shaped, controlled, and directed channeling of magic via somatic, verbal, and focal components, in order to describe the _un-ordered_, purely intention-based magic of 'accidental' magic by comparison. It described how accidental magic could be dangerous, the general causes of such, and mentioned in passing its similarity to wandless and silent magic.

The second book was a specific comparison and contrast between accidental magic, 'conventional' magic, and magic without wand, gesture, words, or any combination thereof. It was written with a blatantly partisan attitude by an Auror in the 1860's, disdaining the over-reliance upon wands that had developed within the British culture, and advocating that education mandate each student master at least one of the core magical subjects wandlessly, and a focus on developing silent casting as a whole. The author also spent almost half of a chapter on arguing, in excruciating detail, why 'Finite Incantem,' should be taught wandlessly, silently, and motionlessly, to every Auror or Hit Wizard candidate, as it allowed escape from almost all common magical restraints. He further detailed that while the wand was the hardest part of conventional spellcasting to do without, it was also the most vulnerable, as wands could be, and often were, snapped in combat situations. The difficulties involved in removing the various common components of casting spells, was that one was, in essence, shaping their magic through pure force of will, a task requiring far more focus and control when even a single element was removed. On the flip side, spells that a wizard cast with a great deal of repetition, they often subconsciously mastered enough to cast at least silently, if not without a gesture or wand either, simply because they became so accustomed to shaping the magic. It was extremely rare for such informal mastery to progress to needing none of the three elements, but not unheard of.

Harry decided that the author to be a very, very sore loser, but for good reason. He had never been in a magical fight, but could already see how valid many of the author's points were, and that they would save lives. In the end, it was all about control; the wand served as the primary focus, the motions and words served as further focii, all to shape the magic into the pattern necessary for the desired spell. Ultimately, though, it was the Wizard's magic, and the greater their personal control, the less dependent (or to Harry's thinking _vulnerable_) they were. It didn't even require a conscious decision on his part, to attempt to build fine enough control to no longer need a wand; someone else could take a wand from him, and thus, hold power over him, and that made wand-dependence unacceptable.

Much of the semester continued in a simple pattern; classes, practicing his magical control, Quidditch practice, tactfully rebuffing the occasional attempt by the various Gryffindors to get close to their celebrity, and keeping an eye on Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, unsurprisingly after being completely shown up, kept a baleful eye on Harry Potter, and Harry in return kept a calmly watchful eye on the Slytherin. It was less than a week before the blond was verbally asserting himself over his classmates, but Harry would simply stare at him when he verged upon physical or magical assault, and the boy's nerve to go beyond verbal abuse would disappear. Malfoy repeatedly challenged Harry to duels, but Harry refused, calmly citing that it would violate school rules, and left it at that.

It was also during this time that Harry began attempting to use the 'tendril' of magic he had learned to extend from his body to pick active spells apart when he studied them, something he initially attempted purely as a study aid, but quickly realized was incredibly useful in and of itself. First he worked on charms he had cast on objects, which were fairly simple to pick apart and sense the components as they disintegrated, but did not teach him too terribly much. He only attempted to deconstruct a Transfiguration once, and spent five minutes picking slivers of toothpick out from underneath his fingernails. This also taught him that while his magical barrier would prevent him from being injured to any real degree, some physical sensations were still incredibly distracting, even if they didn't technically 'hurt.'.

It was considerably more difficult to pick apart charms by other students, partly because he could not sense their magic at all clearly, where he had years of experience working with his own. A few times he got his hands on something Flitwick had charmed, and found he simply lacked the power to have any appreciable effect on the teacher's magic, unless it had time to fade or he worked at it for hours. For a few weeks, Harry was able to enjoy himself with puzzling out the various spells they used, and enjoying discovery for its own sake, as what he was studying was not _immediately_ essential to his continued survival.

Harry also updated his list of things to do with magic, adding 'learn all spells Wandlessly,' 'Add flight to mobility,' and 'learn why I can't teleport in Hogwarts.' His inability to manage even short range teleportation had come as a great source of aggravation, he had been late to class once due to depending on it to allow him to cut down his travel time, and tardiness did not suit the reputation he was trying to build. Still, it was early enough in the year that 'not realizing how long it would take to cross that part of the castle' was still a valid excuse, and life overall fell into a reliable pattern of activity.

Everything changed on Halloween.

((()))

Harry had been keeping an eye on Ronald Weasley as a potential bully, but thus far he had not strayed beyond verbal abuse, and it was only directed against those that played on his obvious insecurities, primarily Hermione Granger. Harry did not hear the remark that resulted in it, but it was hard to miss the bushy-haired girl bursting into tears and running off alone into the castle. When the feast was later interrupted by Quirrel's entrance and faint, Harry immediately surveyed the Gryffindors to discover that the Granger girl had not yet returned.

"Miss Brown," He immediately said, turning to Lavender Brown, "Do you know where Miss Granger is?"

Courtesy and over-formality established a polite but distant front. Harry used it as the weapon it was.

"Oh, she's off crying her eyes out in the second floor bathroom..." Lavender said, her voice trailing off and eyes widening.

"Thank you Miss Brown," Harry said, then broke into a sprint towards the stairs.

He had, over the preceding two months, thoroughly mentally mapped out the castle, and it took him barely more than a minute to reach the second floor bathroom, which, as he recalled, was haunted. Setting aside the slight instinctive aversion to entering the ladies room, he rushed into the bathroom, and quickly located Hermione by the sound of her sniffling within one of the stalls.

"Excuse me Miss Granger," Harry said, knocking on the stall door, "But a Troll has broken into the school, and it is not safe here. Are you decent?"

"Whu-what?" He heard her stutter through a clearly worn throat, and Harry quickly guesstimated that she would not be indecently exposed, and pulled the stall door open.

Within sat Hermione Granger, the top of her robes damp from copious tears, her face red and swollen, looking utterly miserable.

"Pardon me," Harry said, taking hold of both her hands, pulling her to her feet, and hurriedly directing her towards the bathroom's exit.

"Hey!" An ethereal voice called from by the sinks as they moved, "Boys aren't allowed in-"

She was cut off by a loud grunt and crack, as a massive, eight foot tall beast forced its way through a doorframe slightly too small for it by sheer strength.

"Please open a window and jump out, Miss Granger," Harry said, rapidly back-pedaling as he eyed the monster in front of him, "You may break an ankle, but serious injury is unlikely. A troll will probably kill you."

They pressed back against the far bathroom wall, and Harry glanced over his shoulder to see that Hermione was staring at the Troll in dumbfounded shock. Harry slapped her smartly across the cheek.

"Please flee," He said assertively, "I will distract it."

By this point the Troll, dim-witted though it was, had managed to identify the two possible targets within the bathroom, which were conveniently right next to each other, and lurched towards them. Harry cursed his lack of power and functional spells; if he was stronger he could have levitated the troll, or if he had a greater spell selection he could have banished his knife at it, but thus far he was capable of neither, making offensive magic effectively useless. Deliberately directing his magical energies into his internal reinforcement, Harry rushed the Troll.

"Hey!" He shouted, "Pay attention to me!"

He succeeded in distracting it from Hermione, and hurled himself to the ground as it swung its club at him. The clumsy blow swept over him, powerful enough that merely the wind of its passage pushed him a couple of inches across the wet bathroom floor. Lurching back to his feet, he lunged towards the Troll, getting within effective range of its club, then twisting around its flank to kick it in the back of the knee, hoping to knock it off balance.

Stepping back and turning, the Troll swung its club around at Harry again, who jumped towards the Troll to move inside the arc of its swing, ducking under the arm holding the club as he did so. As the knee-kick had failed, Harry tried stomping down on the creature's instep with his entire weight, then slammed his fist into the Troll's loincloth. Neither had any noticeable effect, and Harry concluded the divergence between his physical size and power, and the Troll's durability, were simply too great for him to have a chance at accomplishing anything like this, no matter where he hit it.

Then he pushed back the anger he had not even noticed was rising within him as he attacked the Troll, and reminded himself his purpose here was to serve as a distraction, not kill the Troll. Glancing over, he saw Hermione still petrified by shock and fear.

"Get out of here!" He barked, and lunged in towards the Troll as it backed up and tried to smack him with its club again.

His words, unfortunately, had no effect on the stunned girl, and the Troll, while of minimal intelligence, _did_ apply what intelligence it had to a fight, and determined that if its club wasn't working, it should punch out its' lunch. A short jab delivered to the crown of Harry's head smashed him into the floor so hard he bounced, before sliding across the bathroom floor. Hermione screamed in horror, but Harry just shook his head to throw off the light dazing he'd received, and rolled to his feet.

_My shield is a lot stronger than it used to be,_ He thought to himself, eying the Troll, which had turned its attention away from him, towards the screaming girl again. Anger rising within him once more, Harry growled low in his throat, his eyes tightening, jaw clenching as he pulled a Bowie knife with a 6-inch blade from his robes, and charged the Troll from behind. Harry was never entirely sure why the dim-witted creature spun to face him, but it moved faster than he expected, and whipped its club around as it turned, smashing the weapon, literally larger than Harry's entire body, into the boy, and smashing him through two of the sinks, into the bathroom wall. The stone cracked slightly, one of the large blocks the wall was built out of being driven back by the tremendous impact, leaving Harry stuck partially into the wall.

Grunting off the intense full-body shock, Harry noticed that his internal shields had noticeably diminished after absorbing the blow, something he had never experienced before. Pushing off from the wall, Harry lurched towards the Troll, but it was waiting for him, and brought its club down in a powerful overhand blow, attempting to smash him into the bathroom's tile floor. Harry side-stepped, avoiding most of the blow, but still caught part of it on his shoulder, which even through his shielding, felt like it was almost torn out of its socket as the blow smashed him to the floor, his head landing on top of the club.

Partially stunned by the blow, Harry reacted purely on instinct, attempting to grapple with and stab his attacker, wrapping his arms around the club, and digging his knife into it. Howling in frustration, the Troll began whipping its club around the bathroom, smashing it into walls, stalls, the floor, toilets, the ceiling, sinks, mirrors, all the while Hermione Granger screamed, and Harry grimly clutched the club, forcing as much magic into his defenses as he could. Eventually, the Troll snorted in frustration, and brought its club up to its face, trying to see why the creature on it wouldn't bleed or break when struck.

Due to its low intelligence, it was a _long_ inspection; due to the length of the inspection, Harry was able to regain his senses, and realize where he was. Snarling wordlessly, Harry lunged off the club, ramming his knife through the Troll's eye-socket, burying his arm up to the elbow in the creature's skull as he skewered it's brain. The troll gurgled, eyes rolling back in its head, and fell forward onto the ground, trapping Harry beneath its bulk.

Hermione's mouth was still working to scream, but she had no breath to do so, and collapsed backwards, landing on her butt, the shock jarring her back into breathing, and tears, once more. When Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick arrived upon the scene, they found a dead troll with a growing pool of blood, a thoroughly destroyed bathroom, and an utterly incoherent first-year Gryffindor.

"What in Merlin's name has happened here?" She gasped, but Hermione didn't even seem to recognize that she was present, much less respond to her question.

For a few moments there was silence, as the pair of professors took in the scene before them.

"If you could get this Troll off of me," Came the muffled voice of Harry Potter, "I would be happy to answer you, professor."

Minerva McGonagall, for the second time in the presence of Harry Potter, was utterly bewildered; this time, however, he was unable to see it. Standing beside her Filius Flitwick, Charms Master that he was, used the simple levitation charm he had recently been teaching his students to lift the Troll corpse, revealing an extremely bloody Harry Potter beneath.

"Good heavens!" McGonagall breathed, immediately vanishing the blood on Harry and searching for the places it was emerging from, and finding, to her shock, none. Then she looked at the knife in his hand, and the bloody ruins that remained of the Troll's right eye socket.

"Oh my," She said.

((()))

Ten minutes later, McGonagall, Hermione and Harry were in the hospital wing, the two students under the stern eyes of Madam Pomfrey, the school healer, who was force-feeding Hermione a Calming Draught. McGonagall was keeping a firm hand on Harry's shoulder, as she watched Pomfrey see to Hermione's health. It took a little over a minute for the calming draught to take full effect on the distraught Gryffindor girl, and when it did, she lapsed into silence, and huddled under the blanket on her bed.

Unfortunately for Harry, that left him the primary focus of attention for both Madame Pomfrey, and Professor McGonagall.

"Mister Potter," McGonagall said firmly, but not unkindly, as Pomfrey began her inspection of him, "While I do not recall seeing Miss Granger at the feast before I left, I distinctly _do_ recall _you_ being present, and I would like to know what you were doing in a girl's bathroom of all places, when you should have returned to the Gryffindor dormitories."

"I was concerned myself at Miss Granger's lack of presence," Harry replied calmly, "I asked Miss Brown, and she informed me that she had been in the bathroom on the second floor all afternoon. By the time I learned this, the teachers had left, and I deemed the prefects unlikely to listen to me, and thus proceeded to warn her myself."

"While your concern for Miss Granger is admirable," McGonagall said, "It is _not_ appropriate for you to put yourself in such a dangerous position."

Anger rose in Harry, years of anger at every figure of authority he had ever known, given focus as another authority figure informed him he should not have saved a life. Fatigue and the flux of adrenaline into and out of his system from the fight with the Troll inspired him to be impetuous, and his face tilted up to pin McGonagall with a harsh glare.

"Excuse me, _Professor,_" Harry ground out, "But what course of action would you have preferred for me to take?"

McGonagall was startled by the sudden bite to Harry's tone, but she had dealt with students challenging her authority for years.

"You should have informed a prefect or teacher," McGonagall said firmly staring down at the much-younger student.

"And you honestly believe that they would have handled the situation better than I would have?" Harry asked, not giving an inch.

"Of course," McGonagall said firmly, "They are selected as the most mature and responsible members of their classes, and are all five or more years older and more experienced than you."

"And you think they would have _listened_ to me?" Harry asked, a faint note of sarcasm coloring his tone.

"Of course," McGonagall said, and Harry promptly turned away.

It was a moment before he spoke again, and when he did, his tone was cool and courteous again.

"In that case," Harry said, "My apologies for exercising poor judgment, Professor. I will submit to whatever punishment you see fit to level."

Though he had acknowledged her authority and submitted to punishment, somehow McGonagall still felt she had lost the argument that day.

((()))

Aside from deflecting rumors about him fighting a Troll with the insistence that though he had seen the Troll, he would have died without the teachers showing up, Harry's life continued in a set pattern that he became comfortable with. Until Christmas, the only change from how it had been before was Hermione Granger following him around like a puppy looking for adoption. He paid her no direct attention, though was always aware of her presence, and she would frequently open her mouth, clearly intending to say something, but would lose the nerve to speak.

In fact, she hardly spoke at all anymore, never volunteering to answer in classes anymore, though answering thoroughly, if quietly, when a professor called on her unsolicited. She became obsessive in her studies, silently asking, and receiving from Harry, permission to look over what he was studying in the library, and tearing through the material, while still taking detailed notes, far faster than he was able to. As Harry practiced making basic healing potions, casting the banishing and summoning charms, as well as the fundaments of Transfiguration and the Animagus Transfiguration, she would often blitz through the stacks in the library, working furiously through tomes Harry had not yet had the time to study, and then silently offer him detailed, cross-referenced notes on additional material she had found.

Her behavior confused Harry, but she looked so desperate he could not bring himself to drive her away, and her assistance was incredibly useful. It also highlighted to Harry just how much more intelligent than him she was. Harry had some idea how IQ was measured and suspected that if tested, she would score well into the genius range, if not beyond. Harry was not entirely comfortable with her knowing in such detail what he was studying, as such knowledge gave a great deal of insight into his developing abilities, but considered it ultimately worth the risk for the acceleration it provided his studies, and apparent comfort it offered her. Harry also heard whispers about how the 'Gryffindor bookworms' were burying themselves in the library together from other students, and was happy with how it reinforced his self-applied image; it did not even occur to him that spending fourteen out of sixteen waking hours in a day studying, practicing magic, and engaging in basic physical fitness routines, was unusual behavior; he simply did not see any purpose in spending time on something that would not contribute to his objectives.

The first Quidditch game of the season was the only significant interruption to his studies and practice, and it only took up a single day. With his advantages in speed, agility, general talent, and understanding of how the Snitch functioned, Harry was able to collect it relatively easily, and won Gryffindor the match, not that he cared much. He did wish he'd been able to spend the night after studying, rather than being mired in arbitrary social functions.

Christmas break changed everything all over again.

((()))

Securely secluded within the curtains of his four-poster bed, Harry examined the translucent silky bundle of fabric in his hands. It did not take long to determine, by the dimensions, that it was an adult-sized cloak. Setting it aside, he inspected the note that had come with it, which was unsigned. _Extremely_ suspicious. He would have to do some research, and recover a list of people affiliated with his father, and then search for samples of their hand-writing. It also couldn't hurt to send the note in for chemical testing, to see where it had been. Harry wished he knew how to test the thing for unpleasant magical surprises, but unfortunately he was unlikely to be able to anonymously mail-order testing services in the magical world, meaning he would have to do the leg-work himself, and his ability to detect other's magic on an already-magical object was not yet dependable.

Setting aside both the cloak and the note, he turned the next of his four unexpected, and four total, Christmas presents. It was wrapped precisely in a tartan pattern, and its generally precise manner suggested to Harry that it had been sent by Hermione. Removing and opening the card attached to it confirmed his suspicion, a simple note of modest length lay within.

_Dear Harry,_

_Thank you for saving my life. After hearing about the Troll, my parents have decided to withdraw me from Hogwarts, something I objected to, but I suppose I couldn't really win that argument. Thanks to your studies into Accidental Magic, I was able to persuade them that it would be downright unhealthy for my magical education to be stopped short, but as they are very successful dentists, they simply hired me a tutor, and are looking for another to educate me in conventional subjects as well. I'm sorry I can't help you with your research so easily any more, but if you mail me the subjects you're studying, and a list of the materials you already have access to, I'll see what other materials I can find for you. __Please__ let me help._

_I'm not entirely sure what your other studies were ultimately leading to, but this book should help with your studies of Animagi. It's a direct translation from the original Latin. Thank you again for saving my life._

_-Hermione Granger._

Harry opened the package, and found a sizeable tome within. _Animagus_, the title simply read, and Harry opened it to look over the table of contents and skim the first few pages. It quickly became apparent why it was so thick; each pair of pages contained both the original Latin, and the English translation. Harry was deeply impressed with what he found, it was a simple, direct summation of all the abilities that one must master prior to attempting to become and Animagus, and then detailed instructions as to the transformation ritual, the supporting skills required to undertake the ritual itself, and how to master the process of transformation after the ritual. Harry set the book aside, already intending to spend the rest of the day reading the book.

The third package, unexpectedly, was from the Gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid; it contained a short note and a photo album.

_Harry,_ the note read,

_I got a bunch of old pictures of your mum and dad from their school days, thought you might like it. Come visit me some time if you want to hear more about them._

_-Hagrid._

Something in Harry's chest twisted violently within him as he stared at the unopened photo album, evoking a deep, sickening sense of pain that he didn't understand, and did _not_ like. He reached out to open the album, and the sensation intensified, so he sat back, frowning in irritation and upset. Anger rose within him to fight the pain, and Harry used it to bear down on the unwelcome sensations within him and drive them out. Purposefully and swiftly reaching for his own writing utensils, Harry jotted off a note to Hermione, taking her up on her offer to research for him. Harry asked her to see if she could find what had become of his parents associates; enclosing a portion of the note sent to him, and asked her to see if she could identify the handwriting from among them.

Moving quickly and decisively, Harry slipped the note and the album into a large envelope, and strode off to the Owlery. Twenty minutes later, he was back, and one of the school owls was winging its way to the Granger residence. The only other first year male Gryffindor who had remained in school, Ronald Weasley, was still sleeping, so Harry was not interrupted as he proceeded to his final package. It was, surprisingly, from his Aunt Petunia.

_Harry,_ the attached note said,

_I'm sorry._

_-Petunia._

Harry sat back, his jaw clenching tightly as anger and other emotions he chose not to pay attention to rose within him. Closing his eyes, he spent nearly a minute using deep breaths to manage his emotions, before opening the package itself. It contained a half-dozen home-baked cupcakes, a high-quality pocket-knife, and a pocket guide to plants in the United Kingdom and Europe that were edible, poisonous, or had medicinal values. Harry had not realized that his Aunt had paid that much attention to the theme of his studies, but approved of the utility of the gifts she had given him.

Slipping both the knife and the pocket-book into his pockets, Harry set out fulfill his morning exercise regimen, and then eat breakfast. By the time Ronald Weasley woke up, he had returned to his bed, and was working his way through the book on the Animagus transformation.

((()))

It took Hermione less than a week to identify the hand-writing as belonging to Albus Dumbledore, by which point Harry had identified the garment that came with the note as an invisibility cloak. Harry thanked her for her assistance, and considering Dumbledore's considerable reputation, determined that the cloak was as likely to be safe as he could trust without learning the appropriate detection spells to study it himself. He had already begun to study detection spells, but simply lacked the power and control for most of them as yet.

Donning the cloak in improbably early hours one morning in January, Harry set off to explore the barred portions of the castle. First he pin-pointed the various other house dormitories by tracking students, but seeing no need as yet, did not attempt to enter them. Over the course of the rest of the week, he located all of the teacher's offices, browsed the titles in the restricted section of the library, and eventually came to the forbidden portion of the third floor corridor in the west wing. A simple unlocking charm opened the door, and within he found a Cerberus.

It was one of the few things that year to stun him motionless even for a brief moment. He recognized the creature from Greek mythology, of course, but had not realized that they actually existed. The dog's attention was drawn to the open door, and it began sniffing about, peering warily at the empty doorway. Harry carefully examined the dog and its surroundings, noticing the chain and collar keeping it to a certain area, and the trap-door within that area, then retreated.

Three days later Hermione informed him that Cerberus' were frequently chosen for guardian creatures, but never alone by intelligent wizards, due to their vulnerability to music, and that she was still tracking down the various persons in the album. Keeping this in mind, Harry equipped himself for an expedition with multiple obstacles, which mostly meant he brought his knife, his wand, his broom, his cloak, and the quartet of simple healing potions he had managed to brew with him.

The last weekend in January, Harry used a mechanically powered music box he'd mail-ordered to put the Cerberus to sleep, and flew down the trap door it guarded. He flew over a devil's snare plant, collected a flying key, passed a sleeping Troll, flew over a human-sized animated chess board, solved a logic puzzle, and arrived in a room that _appeared_ to be entirely empty. Seating himself near the door, but still beneath his cloak, he carefully extended a tendril of his magic from his hand, and spent an hour systematically probing the room, discovering no other magical auras within. Then he used the _Lumos_ charm to search the room visually, and found a portion of the earthen floor that was slightly awry, dug it up, and found an enchanted steel strongbox with a combination lock on it a foot down. It was heavy, but he managed to balance it on his broom and return the way he had entered.

On his way to the owlery, Harry probed the box with his magic, systematically disrupting every charm on it, something paranoia drove him to, despite how difficult he found it to be. The strong box was then taken, carried in an improvised rope harness, to Number 4 Privet Drive via 6 school owls working in concert. Harry was never more aware of how much physically stronger magical animals such as mail owls appeared to be than conventional breeds.

((()))

Aside from an occasional jaunt to the library forbidden section to try to find books that were not charmed with alarms, Harry did nothing else of particular note that year. He continued both his studies for his classes, as well as his personal studies. He determined that at his rate of power growth, he would not be able to attempt the Animagus transformation until his body properly entered puberty, and set that aside as a less immediate goal. He solidly mastered the summoning, banishing, and vanishing charms with his wand, and silently, but could not yet perform them without gestures or his wand. He found it incredibly difficult to extend his magic beyond the limits of his body for any purpose beyond simply feeling magic within other things, or picking apart spells, without his wand to shape it.

After his experience with the strong box, he had discovered that it was quite easy to unravel most charms that were not permanent once you discovered their 'weak points', and that any spell cast upon an object by one of the other students, save for Susan Bones, Neville Longbottom, Lily Moon, or Tracy Davis, he could readily remove. The teacher's spells he could only remove after some time had passed, the length of time depending on the teacher. It did not take much research to discover that the duration a non-permanent spell lasted for depended upon the power of a witch or wizard, but he still referred the subject to Hermione for research, although she was slower in responding now that she had both a magical and mundane tutor educating her full-time.

Harry was consistently able to produce healing and blood-restorative potions by the end of the year, as well as those required by the class syllabus, and due to the amount of time he had spent focusing on it, was vastly above the rest of the class in Transfiguration, his superior control also put him at the top of the class in Charms. His grades were abysmal in History of Magic, and barely acceptable in Potions, but considering the teachers, Harry could not bring himself to care. He performed solidly in Herbology, which he considered acceptable both for the image he was projecting for others to observe, and the usefulness, but not critical nature, of the subject.

Most importantly for his peace of mind, he discovered Legilimency and Occlumency, and was able to begin working on the beginnings of more organized mental defense, as well as some mental offense, though lack of ability to practice on another crippled his ability to develop that skill. Combined with the strengthening of his magical defenses, and the field-test of them with the Troll in October, before they were strengthened even more, Harry was quite satisfied with the development of his abilities.

The only other matter that demanded his attention before the end of the year was Draco Malfoy. The blond Slytherin aristocrat returned from Christmas break much more confident, and rather than glaring balefully at Harry, he smirked at him. Harry prepared himself for another round of dominance struggle from the boy, but otherwise ignored him and continued with his studies. When the Slytherin eventually made his move, it came as a moderate surprise to Harry that the boy actually had the brains to lay an ambush, rather than just directly confront him again.

"_Stupefy_," Harry heard the Malfoy boy's voice from behind and immediately dove to the floor.

Not waiting to see what else was to follow, Harry rolled to the edge of the corridor, and crabbed himself upright, reaching for the door he had rolled to with his left hand while he drew his wand with his right.

"_Stupefy,_" Malfoy said again, and Harry summoned one of Hogwarts many suits of armor into the path of the second spell, reached the doorknob, and left the hallway.

Examining the room he entered, he found himself in a dusty and abandoned classroom; there were no footprints or other disturbances in the dust, so he concluded he was alone, and took a moment to consider his options while he recovered from summoning so heavy an object.

"Running away, Potter?" Malfoy taunted from the corridor, but Harry ignored him.

Malfoy never went anywhere without his bodyguards, but Harry had not seen them yet. Crabbe and Goyle were not even marginally competent spellcasters, but they were exceedingly physically powerful for their age, and Harry did not want to get taken unawares by them. They were also very slow, and loud, at least every time he'd run into them before, but he didn't want to get ambushed due to making foolish assumptions. Surveying the second-floor classroom, again, Harry focused on the windows. Eighty seconds and two windows later, he was in the next room over, and Malfoy was becoming impatient in his taunting.

Carefully easing the door open a bare inch, Harry twisted around until he could see Malfoy through the narrow gap. He was perhaps a half-dozen feet from the Slytherin, who was wholly focused on taunting the now-empty classroom Harry had been in. Rolling his eyes in disgust at the obliviousness of his would-be attacker, Harry took a moment to vanish the dust in classroom he was _now_ in, then donned his invisibility cloak, and slowly cracked the door farther open until a solid twelve inch gap was visible. One silent summoning charm later, Harry had Draco's wand, and left via the window again.

Harry moved out through the classroom he had originally entered, vanishing the dust as he went to remove his tracks to this window as well, then quietly left the infuriated Malfoy to search for his wand. It would be found later that afternoon in the entry hall, snapped into three distinct pieces. That conflict, in the middle of February, marked Malfoy's only other power play that year, and the fact that Harry did not speak of the encounter seemed to only give him an even greater appearance of strength to the other first years, something he did not mind in the least, so long as it was restricted _solely_ to the first years.

By the end of the year, he was firmly established as a courteous, if distant, loner, who was simply too busy studying to socialize much, and had the grades to prove it. On the whole, Harry determined his ten months at Hogwarts to be eminently satisfactory in his progressing plans for developing his independence and capabilities. There was, however, one fly in the ointment, on the train ride back to London that June.

The notification that magic was forbidden to under-age students during the Summer Harry found _quite_ displeasing.

((()))

"All warfare is based upon deception."

-Sun Tzu's Art of War, Chapter 1, Section 18.

End Chapter 1.

((()))

Revised AN: Wow. I had forgotten that I had written the first parts of this story after an authoral dry spell, something like six or eight months before I wrote the rest of it. The earlier parts of this story are a _lot_ rougher than I consider acceptable for myself these days, especially in how awkward some of the wording is; I've smoothed out a fair bit of it, but the less developed work still shows. I'm also rather appalled by the number of grammar and spelling errors I had to fix on this revision.


	3. Chapter 2

Revised AN: Unless it says 'Revised' before it, or specifically mentions it, all AN's are the AN's from the original story. Also, got some rather hilarious reviews from people under the impression that I've been trying, and failing, to finish this story multiple times. 24 hours ago, the complete form of this story was posted. This repost simply cleans up the grammar/spelling/etc, and adds some elements that I had originally intended to include, but forgot the first time around, the core of the story is completely unchanged.

((()))

Chapter 2: Everyone else during first year. And Summer.

((()))

March:

McGonagall poured herself a finger of whiskey, took it straight, then sat down and picked up the letter she had received from Hermione Granger again.

_Professor McGonagall,_

_I'm worried about Harry. I sent him a Christmas present with a note telling him my parents were withdrawing me from Hogwarts, and offering to keep helping him with research where I could. That morning, he sent me a picture album, and asked me to look for the people in it, his parent's old friends. It was a Christmas gift from Mister Hagrid, and he hadn't opened it, which worried me a bit. I started going through muggle and magical records, and the important bit I found was about his mother's family. Her sister married a man named Vernon Dursley, and lived with him in Little Whinging for twelve years. I discovered this, when I realized Harry never talked about where he lived, or his family. Vernon Dursley was sent to prison almost two years ago for child abuse and armed assault. His wife, Harry's aunt, called the police in after a fight with her husband, who had been beating Harry with a golf-club. Due to the severity of the crime, and undisclosed information suggesting a history of abuse of both Harry and Petunia, Vernon Dursley will be in prison for at least thirty years._

_Harry never even looked inside the album about his parents; I talked with my parents, and they agreed that probably means very bad things. Would you please look into Harry for me?_

_-Hermione Granger._

McGonagall downed another shot of whiskey, and carefully considered her encounters with Harry Potter. The conversation she had with him after the Troll incident over Halloween almost immediately came to mind, and after taking the time to consider it more carefully, McGonagall realized two horrifying things. The first was that Harry had been judging her there, and had judged her as inadequate. The second was that it had been the only time she had _ever_ seen past what she now _knew _had to be a facade of courteous distance.

Focusing furiously on remembering as best she could the details of the exchange she'd had with Harry, she tried to put herself in his shoes. It did not take her long to realize that to his point of view, she had told him to let the young Granger die. It took her an hour and most of the rest of the bottle of whiskey to admit to herself that when she looked beyond her need to assert her authority in the situation, Harry was actually _right_, which only made her feel even more like she had betrayed James and Lily. The next morning, a Saturday, she would remember _who_ had placed Harry with his uncle, and the focus of her anger would change.

Her personal guilt, however, remained.

((()))

"Hello Miss Granger," The youthful dark-haired woman said, "My name is Andromeda Tonks, your parents have hired me to be your tutor."

"Hello Miss Tonks," Hermione said quietly.

"Misses, actually," Andromeda said with a smile, "My daughter Nymphadora just graduated Hogwarts at the end of last year."

Hermione's eyes widened slightly as she looked her new teacher up and down again, startled at the implied age. Andromeda laughed lightly in response.

"Oh," She said, "I know by muggle standards I look much too young to have a daughter who is eighteen years old, but witches age more slowly than muggle women, and witches tend to marry younger than muggles do these days, usually at eighteen, right out of school."

Hermione was uncertain how to respond to this news, and it showed.

"This," Andromeda said, "Is just one of many cultural differences between the Muggle and Magical worlds I will be teaching you about."

A smile slowly built to blinding proportions upon Hermione's face.

((()))

July:

"Why are you here?" Harry asked, staring blankly at his aunt.

Harry did not believe in revealing his emotions to anyone, but did not go out of his way to present a façade to his aunt either, and she could see the deeply entrenched anger and aggression that hid behind his blank look.

"I'm not stupid," Petunia said, "I've been watching what you study, the way you train yourself, I know what you want."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

"Those magical types," Petunia said, voice hitching slightly at the m-word, but she forced herself to move on, "Their world is different, but you want power, enough to guarantee your freedom and independence."

Harry's face became completely expressionless, but he still said nothing. Somehow, Petunia found this more disturbing, rather than less.

"There are seven different unarmed combat instructors within reasonable range," Petunia pressed on, a faint hint of fear entering her voice, "Two boxers, and five eastern martial artists. One of them even teaches fighting with weapons."

Harry's expression shifted subtly to a more thoughtful cast, and Petunia felt whatever threat that had held over her pass. Nearly a minute passed while Harry silently thought, and Petunia was glad for the time, allowing the tension to fade from her system, then Harry turned met her eyes with an intense gaze.

"What kind of weapons?" Harry asked intently.

((()))

"Why do you want to learn the sword?" The short Japanese man said, directing the most intense gaze Harry had ever experienced at the nearly twelve-year old boy.

Harry found, to his considerable surprise, that he could not simply intimidate the man with his gaze, like other muggles he had encountered, and in further surprise, he seemed perfectly willing to wait for Harry to answer. It wasn't hard for Harry to tell that the man would spot any lie immediately and with ease.

"There are people who mean to kill me," He said simply, "I intend to gain every edge that I can."

The man's gaze intensified, and for the first time in many months, Harry found his fight or flight instinct acting up.

"You are too old for your age, young man," The Japanese man said, "Why do men hunt one so young?"

Harry took a moment to look around the Dojo, confirming what his ears had already told him, the students from the last class of the day had already left, leaving only Petunia, himself, and the teacher.

"For reasons it's not legal for me to tell you about," Harry said, extracting his pocket knife, and flipping open the blade.

He then proceeded to stab himself in the hand, repeatedly, _forcefully_. Aside from his hand being knocked back by the blows, it had no noticeable effect. Harry raised his undamaged hand and displayed it to the teacher pointedly, then folded his knife shut and replaced it in his pocket. The Japanese man stepped back, and closed his eyes in contemplation for a long moment.

"I must think on this," He said, opening his eyes to look at Harry again, "Return tomorrow at the same time, and we will speak again."

((()))

That night, when Harry returned to his room, there was a strange creature waiting on his bed for him. Harry retrieved his wand and knife before he even recognized the bedraggled creature's species, long paranoia extremely disturbed with his living space being violated without him having realized it. Carefully controlling his reaction, he sheathed the knife, but kept his wand out.

"House Elf," He said calmly, "What is your name, who is your master, and why are you here?"

"Dobby is Dobby!" The creature burst out excitedly, "Dobby cannot speak of his bad master, and Dobby is here to keep The Great Harry Potter Sir from going to Hoggywarts! Hoggywarts is dangerousses this year! The Great Harry Potter Sir must stay safe!"

"Perhaps," Harry said evenly, "But it was dangerous for me last year as well, and in the long run, if I do not learn magic, I will be in even more danger."

The house elf's brow crinkled in consternation, and it nervously wrung its hands, clearly uncertain of what to do.

"While I appreciate your desire to protect me," Harry said, re-sheathing his knife, "Whatever particular foe awaits me at Hogwarts this coming year will be but one among many I face in the course of my life, and I cannot allow it to impair my continued growth and development. In addition, if I do _not_ attend Hogwarts, it will draw attention that is dangerous to me in and of itself."

"But," Dobby said, "But, Harry Potter will be _Killed_ if he goes to Hoggywarts this year!"

"I do not know what danger waits for me there," Harry said, "But I _do_ know what dangers await me if I do _not_ attend Hogwarts, and they have every chance of being lethal as well. Multiple different instances of lethality. Logically, it is better to expose myself to a single, unknown danger, rather than multiple known dangers of similar severity."

Dobby, already flustered and confused, was now on the verge of tears, indecision only raising his distress.

"I see this is distressing for you to hear," Harry said, "I am uncertain what to do, but thank you for the warning. Perhaps we could speak again another day, after we have both had time to think?"

The Elf nodded frantically, and disappeared with a pop, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

((()))

"What do you desire first?" The Japanese man asked, "To defend, or to avenge?"

"To defend," Harry answered without hesitation.

"I will teach you."

((()))

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," Hermione said, smiling. "It's so good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, Miss Granger," The elderly Scotswoman said, "I'd held quite high hopes for you as a student of Gryffindor."

Hermione smiled, blushing slightly. McGonagall smiled back.

"I asked to speak with you for two reasons," McGonagall said, "First, to check on your schooling progress, and second, to give you a personal response to your earlier letter to me concerning Harry…"

((()))

A sharp popping sound drew Harry's attention from his studies, his wand out and facing the just-arrived house-elf in a flash.

"Hello Dobby," Harry said, lowering, but not releasing, his wand, "How are you?"

"Dobby is worried!" Dobby said, "He is knowing that the Great Harry Potter Sir is having many enemies now, and is not sureses how to helps him!"

"Well," Harry said, "I understand that you cannot tell me many things due to your bond with your master, but can you answer for me one thing?"

"If Dobby can, Dobby will," Dobby said.

"Is the threat to me specifically, or to the entire school?"

((()))

_Hermione,_ Hermione read in Harry's distinct, efficient hand-writing, _I have another request to make of your fastidious services. I have received a warning that a threat to the entirety of Hogwarts exists this coming year, from a house-elf named Dobby. If you could attempt to discover whose service this Elf is bound to, and any other information you may think pertinent…_

((()))

McGonagall sighed, and set down the latest letter she had received from Miss Granger, her off hand automatically retrieving another bottle of whiskey as she contemplated its contents. As she poured her first drink for the evening, she idly considered beginning a system of rating the bushy-haired witches letters by the number of drinks associated with them.

"Sirius Bloody Black, she wants to know about," She grumped under her breath, then threw back the shot, "Someone should have looked over that album before Hagrid sent it to Harry; I suppose it's just as well he _didn't_ look at it before he sent it on to Hermione."

She considered a second shot, but decided to hold off for now, and instead returned her attention to the letter.

_The second matter that I wished to Owl you about, was the matter of Harry's residence. It was not at all difficult for me to discover, as he has been contacting me through conventional muggle mail during the summer, which includes his address. He is currently living at Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. _

Minerva had not expected that Harry's residence had changed, but she had seen no reason not to ask, since she was already in regular correspondence with the Granger girl.

_As to the third matter, Harry has informed me that a House Elf has visited him during the Summer, warning him of a threat to the entirety of Hogwarts._

Minerva paused her reading to take another shot.

_He requested I look into the matter, particularly to discover who owns the Elf, as it is the Elf's 'bad master' that is the source of the apparent threat. Publically available ministry property records reveal that the house elf Dobby is bound to the service of the Malfoy family. I have no idea what the threat is, but I thought you should be informed._

Minerva took her third shot.

((()))

"You learn quickly," The short swordsman said after disarming Harry for the third consecutive time.

"I have great motivation," Harry replied, warily watching the older, but faster man's movements, reading his body posture to try to predict where and when he would strike.

His teacher moved, and Harry shifted right, eyes switching to the blade to track the specific details of its movement. He failed to catch the movement of his teacher's leg, and fell victim to a perfectly-executed leg sweep.

"Remember, Harry," The man said, "Attacks coming from unexpected avenues are often the most dangerous, both for you, and your enemies."

"Yes teacher," Harry said, rolling to his feet, accepting the return of his sword, and setting himself for another round.

((()))

"Well then," Dumbledore said with a modest fraction of his usual joviality, looking around the staff room at the rest of the faculty, "Are there any other matters that require our attention?"

"Yes," McGonagall said, "As a matter of fact there is."

"If you'd care to enlighten us?" Flitwick asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I have received a warning that Lucius Malfoy is planning something of potentially lethal results within Hogwarts for the next academic year," McGonagall stated firmly.

A long, pregnant pause greeted that statement.

"I see," Dumbledore said, entirely serious now, "Minerva, where did this warning come from?"

"One of the Malfoy House-Elves," She replied, "Who apparently determined that he needed to warn young Harry Potter off of returning to Hogwarts this year, as his life would be in danger. Harry was good enough to pass the warning along, after inquiring whether the threat was to him specifically, or the school at large."

"Hogwash," Snape said dismissively, voice laden with derision, "Just the brat grubbing for attention. No need to-"

A harsh shattering sound interrupted Snape's burgeoning rant, and every eye turned to McGonagall, who now held the bloody shards of her water glass in her left hand.

"Tell me, Severus," She said, her voice dangerously even, "Upon _what, _exactly, do you base your opinion of young Mister Potter?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He said, his voice slightly more cautious as his gaze shifted from her bloody hand to her intense eyes, "He's ridden his fame onto the Quidditch team, is constantly drawing attention to himself in classes, the boy is a spoiled brat!"

"I have never found Mister Potter to be anything except diligent and attentive in his classes with me," McGonagall said, her tone becoming chill, "As a matter of fact, I specifically have to call upon him in order to get him to speak out in class. What about you, Filius, Pomona?" She turned her head to look at the two inquiringly.

"I would have to agree," Flitwick said quietly, while Sprout just nodded.

"Strange," McGonagall said, her voice now stern as she turned back to Snape, "How every member of the faculty who has taught Mister Potter except for you holds a directly contradictory opinion to yours, yet _we_ are all in agreement as to his character. Why do you suppose that would be?"

"Because you're blinded by his fame," Snape said sharply, "Just like every-"

He was abruptly cut off as a wad of cloth appeared in his mouth at a flick of McGonagall's wand.

"That will be quite enough," McGonagall said flatly, "Your personal feud with James Potter bore at least some justification, in the fact that he was among the parties in the wrong, but your insistence upon prosecuting it upon his son is beyond inexcusable. If you were a fellow student, I would have you in detention for a week for your behavior, as you are a _teacher_, your are expected to be held to a higher standard, and as such, I am placing you on disciplinary probation, effective immediately, until such time as I have reason to believe you have reformed your ways."

Snape's eyes flared in rage, but it was Dumbledore who spoke.

"Now Minerva," He said in a conciliatory tone, "I think that may be a bit excessive, perhaps-"

"No Albus," She said harshly, cutting him off and turning to face him with fire in her eyes, "It is not. Do you remember the name Vernon Dursley?"

A moment of silence passed before he responded.

"Yes," He said hesitantly, "I do."

"Vernon Dursley," She said shortly, "Is currently serving his third of thirty years in prison, his primary crime being extreme _child abuse_."

Dumbledore suddenly became deathly still, but McGonagall was already turning her gaze to the other assembled faculty.

"Vernon Dursley," She said, "For those of you who were not aware, is the man who married Lily Potter's sister, and is also the man into whose care Albus entrusted Harry at the tender age of one."

Now _everyone_ at the table was deathly still, the only perceptible movement being McGonagall's lips, as she spoke.

"I have been in correspondence concerning Harry Potter since just after Christmas," McGonagall said, "With one Hermione Granger. Perhaps some of you remember her, brilliant young Witch who was nearly killed by a Troll on Halloween?"

Several of the Faculty nodded hesitantly.

"Harry Potter saved her life on that day," McGonagall continued with cold precision, "And when she shared her story with her parents over Christmas break, they withdrew her from the school, and hired a private tutor for her. Considering that the faculty of this school are entirely to blame for her near death, and that it was a fellow _student_, not even a _prefect_, who saved her, I do not blame them in the slightest. Can anyone here, _especially_ _you,_ Albus, offer to me a satisfactory explanation as to why Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, required a _first year's_ actions in order to prevent a fatality?"

None of them said a word.

"When I spoke with Mister Potter," She continued, "Immediately after the event, I of course chastised him for placing himself in danger, and a small argument ensued. I did not realize it at the time, but I was effectively arguing that he should have left Miss Granger to die, something he realized, and at the time, I did not. Considering Harry's history with other authority figures, particularly Severus and Vernon Dursley, I suspect that what little respect for authority Harry may have had, was at that point lost."

She carefully turned her eye to each member of the staff in sequence. Vector looked unsettled. Snape appeared to be in some form of shock. Sprout had taken on an unhealthy shade of green. Flitwick's face may as well have been carved of stone, but his eyes were focused in furious concentration. Sinistra's face bore an expression of disbelief. Trelawney, Grubbly-Plank, and the other teachers were absent, but Dumbledore's eyes carried a deep, deep sorrow within them.

"A loss of respect which is entirely justified," McGonagall continued, "According to Miss Granger, Vernon Dursley's last act of abuse was to attack Harry with a golfing iron, and was only prevented from killing him, by his wife risking her own death in attacking him. Harry was nine at the time."

Her full attention turned back upon Snape.

"You, Severus Snape," She said, her voice finally beginning to slip from its iron control, and hints of the brogue of her roots edging in, "Have judged an abused child from ignorance, and heaped your scorn upon him unjustly, not only as an adult, but as his _teacher_. The only reason I'm no' give you the sack, is because _I_ failed to notice myself. Mark my words though, if you step one **hair **out of line with th' boy again, and I hear of it, I'll have you in my office t' account for yourself by the end of the day, and if you can't satisfy me, you'll be out on your ear. And don' think I won' be lookin' into what you've been doin' to me other Gryff's neither, _Severus_."

Silence reigned around the table for a full half minute as McGonagall and Snape locked furious gazes.

"Minerva," Albus said eventually, his tone cautious, "We cannot afford to lose-"

"YES WE BLOODY WELL CAN!" Minerva screamed, her face red as her head snapped around to face Dumbledore, every other member of the staff starting violently at her uncharacteristic outburst, "I **WARNED **YOU, ALBUS SODDING DUMBLEDORE, THAT THE DURSLEYS WERE THE WORST KINDS OF MUGGLES, BUT YOU DIDN' LISTEN, WELL YOU'LL BLOODY WELL LISTEN NOW. IF YOU TRY'N STOP ME FROM SACKIN' THE LOUT, IT"LL BE HIM OR ME!"

Every staff member at the table, including Dumbledore, recoiled sharply from McGonagall, and none said anything for long minutes, the only sound within the staff room McGonagall's harsh breathing as she gradually brought it, and her temper, under control, and the color in her face returned to normal.

"I have told you for years that Severus has too much free reign," McGonagall said, her tone hard, but even, "I draw the line here. If you attempt to overrule me again, not only will I resign, but I will attempt to persuade every staff member I can to leave with me, and send a letter to the parents of every single student recommending they withdraw their children until such time as both Snape, _and you_, are removed from Hogwarts."

To Dumbledore and the other senior staff members, who remembered McGonagall's younger years, when her temper was less even, this was even more shocking than her outburst.

"For too long, Albus," Minerva said, "Your have been too soft, and allowed petty bullies and tyrants to run free within this institution. This stops here, and now. If you will not get behind me on this, I will either see you removed from your position over the children, or see them removed from under you."

With that, she stood, and strode purposefully to the door.

"Now if you will excuse me," She said, "I will be going to see Poppy about my hand. And Severus," She added, looking back at the man, "Your probation includes removal as head of Slytherin house."

Snape finally tore the wad of cloth out of his mouth, and bit off a retort, but McGonagall had already left, and the other teachers were paying more attention to the puddle of blood and glass McGonagall had left on the table, while Dumbledore was lost in his own thoughts.

((()))

"Therefore, in your deliberations, when seeking to determine the military conditions, let them be made the basis of a comparison, in this wise:

Which of the two sovereigns is imbued with the moral law?

Which of the two generals has the most ability?

With whom lie the advantages derived from Heaven and Earth?

On which side is discipline most rigorously enforced?

Which army is stronger?

On which side are the officers and men more highly trained?

In which army is there the greater constancy both in reward and punishment?

By means of these seven considerations I can forecast victory or defeat."

-Sun Tzu's Art of War, Chapter 1, Sections 12-14.

End Chapter 2.

((()))

AN: Some readers have expressed concern about lack of character interaction, or writing certain characters out of the story. This story is an endeavour to write a realistic (or at least more so, within my limitations as an author) story as to how abused people respond to such behavior. It has since grown into an attempt to make other characters more realistic, such as Hermione, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and whoever else happens to crop up as significant. There are some things I had intended to do with the plot, that I have simply abandoned because the characters, realistically, would not behave in such a way. Harry is a social recluse in this story, because that is how abused people very often behave. The title 'Brutal Harry' more refers to a brutally utilitarian lifestyle than a Harry particularly prone to brutal acts, though sometimes that utiltarianism _will_ result in acts almost anyone would consider brutal. All that said, a strong element of this story is intended to be _overcoming_ the scars of abuse, at least to some degree, so all will not remain as it is.


	4. Chapter 3

AN: I am _not_ a bannana!

((()))

Chapter 3:

((()))

Harry Potter read in relative privacy as the Hogwarts Express silently carried him towards Scotland, paying no obvious attention to the small red-headed girl that had decided to share his compartment with him. She had one of her own schoolbooks out, but Harry could tell she was making precious little progress with it, far more interested in trying to steal glances at him. It wasn't hard for him to tell she was clearly a close relation of the Weasleys, probably another sibling, though he was uncertain why she paid him so much attention, considering he wasn't particularly close to any of the other Weasleys.

He thought it most likely that the root of it was hero-worship, and the celebrity effect, but none of the other students he had dealt with at Hogwarts, save Hermione before she left, had so persistently ignored his social cues that he wished to be left alone. Over the course of the train ride, she several times moved as though she intended to speak to him, then blushed, and looked away. Harry decided this was an acceptable state of events, and the rest of the train ride passed in silence. Once they arrived at the Hogsmead station, he discovered that all students above first year rode carriages to the school grounds, carriages hitched to, apparently nothing.

Something niggled at the edge of his senses about the harnesses, but he turned his attention to the more immediate matter, of attempting to find a carriage to himself. Eventually he settled for a carriage with Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor notable for his shyness, something Harry found desirable at the moment. The final stage of the journey to Hogwarts passed in silence, the light too faint for Harry to read, so he instead passed the time by concentrating on his magical control, attempting to stick and unstick his wand to his hand sans incantation or gesture. An uneventful span of time later, the assorted students entered Hogwarts castle, passing directly through the entrance hall into the Great Hall, to seat themselves at the house tables.

With a source of light more readily available, Harry was again able to read to pass the time, until the first years filtered in to be sorted. The hat, he noted, sang a different song this year, though the themes were the same; it mattered little to him. Throughout the sorting, he took note of each student, looking for anything about them that was likely to be particularly relevant to him; few caught his interest. There was a Gryffindor boy, Creevey, of unusual enthusiasm, who would bear a little watching. The Weasley girl, Ginevra apparently, was sorted into Gryffindor as well, and was indeed yet another sibling of the large family of redheads. There was a pale blond with an otherworldly expression sorted into Ravenclaw, who niggled at his senses in an odd way, that he could not quite place. None of the other students drew his attention in particular, though the faculty was behaving oddly.

McGonagall was paying him the occasional long glance, and Snape was ignoring him completely. Dumbledore looked at him once, just once, but Harry saw both a great deal of sorrow, as well as a Legilimency probe in his eyes, and thus immediately looked away. The feast, in and of itself, Harry found largely uneventful, save for the need to politely fend off the interested questions of the new Gryffindors, who had not yet learned of Harry's preference for privacy.

By the time Harry reached the second-year boy's dorm that night, he still had not caught a whiff of any sort of unusual trouble, and while unsurprising, that worried him.

((()))

"Mister Potter," McGonagall said, gesturing for him to take a seat across from her.

"Professor McGonagall," Harry replied, seating himself precisely, his face the epitome of utter neutrality.

"I called you here, Mister Potter," McGonagall said, "Because over the course of the Summer I came to learn, and realize, a great number of things. One of the things I realized, is that I owe you an apology."

Harry's neutral mask froze, and his body instinctively tensed for defensive action. McGonagall sighed, removing her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose.

"Amongst other former students," She said, "I corresponded over the Summer with Miss Granger, who professed concern for you. Some investigation revealed what is publicly available in the muggle world of your family history."

Aside from breathing, Harry remained utterly motionless.

"When Albus Dumbledore placed you with the Dursleys nearly eleven years ago," McGonagall continued, looking him fully in the eye, "I spent the day beforehand watching them, and I warned him that they were the worst kind of muggles, that you should be placed with someone else."

Harry did not move a single muscle in response, but his eyes had taken on a slightly glazed look.

"At the time, I allowed my judgment to be overruled by Dumbledore. He was, after all, the preeminent wizard of our age. Immediately thereafter, Dumbledore hired Snape as the new Potions master at Hogwarts, as Horace Slughorn was retiring. Over time, a pattern of favoritism and other objectionable behavior on his part grew, but again, I allowed Dumbledore to overrule my objections, until such time as we reached what you have known under his 'tutelage.' I have wronged you in both of these things, and the school at large for the second, and I apologize for both."

There was a moment's pause, Harry continuing to remain motionless.

"Particular to you also," McGonagall continued, "Is what happened on Halloween last year."

At this, Harry showed his first physical reaction since McGonagall said the word 'apology;' he began to tremble.

"Once the process of realization began," McGonagall said, "I began reconsidering many things, one of them my conversation with you after you saved Miss Granger's life. I realized that I had, in essence, been arguing that you should have allowed her to die, and purely so that my preconception of how things should be could be maintained. This was utterly inexcusable on my part, and you have my sincerest apologies. I should have lauded your courage, and the results of your behavior, and perhaps by way of punishment set you a weekly meeting with me to help you learn when it is appropriate to seek aid, and when to simply act."

Harry sat, strain showing around the edges of his expression, in subtle ways not immediately obvious, but combined with the trembling, these things told a potent story. McGonagall had the sudden urge to wrap the boy in a hug, and then realized, with a slight start, that that was probably _exactly_ what the boy needed. So, standing swiftly, she walked around her desk, then after a moment's hesitation that surprised even her, bent over to wrap the boy in a hug. He started violently at the first moment of contact, but other than his trembling continuing, that was the only movement he made. After another moment's hesitation, she carefully lifted him out of the chair, and seated herself in it, pulling him into her lap.

She held him silently for a quarter of an hour before she realized there might be something more than simple emotional overload to what was happening. At that point, she turned Harry in her lap to look him in the face, and realized that his eyes were locked on something unseen, and aside from the shaking, he had gone totally limp. She snapped her wand out in a flash, cast a weightless charm on the boy, and swiftly carried him off to the infirmary.

((()))

"He was in Shock," Pomfrey said, looking up from the now-unconscious form of Harry Potter, "One of the worst cases I've seen in a long time. What happened to him?"

"I apologized to him," McGonagall said, a rare note of uncertainty in her voice.

Pomfrey turned to look at her, confusion writ across her face.

"You _apologized_ to him?" She said.

"Yes," McGonagall said, a slight edge of hoarseness entering her voice, "After flinching slightly, he began to tremble while I detailed precisely what I was apologizing about. He flinched again, quite noticeably, when I first touched him, but aside from that, only the trembling until you put him under."

"There was nothing else?" Pomfrey asked.

"Nothing," McGonagall said, shaking her head.

Pomfrey sighed, and gestured for McGonagall to follow her into her office, where she sat down, and poured out a bottle of bourbon.

"Have a seat," She said, sitting down herself, then conjuring both of them glasses, and pouring a pair of drinks.

McGonagall transfigured the chair across from Pomfrey's desk to better suit her with a flick of her wand, then sat, accepting a drink from Pomfrey.

"You are not going to like this," Pomfrey said, "But I probably know the cause of this."

McGonagall nodded sharply, taking a brief sip from the glass of bourbon.

"I've seen very similar symptoms a number of times when dealing with muggles who have been exposed to the magical world," Pomfrey said, "Some muggles are so wrapped up in their concepts of science, and knowing for an absolute _certainty_ how the world works, that seeing blatant, real magic traumatizes them, and they go into shock. The point I'm getting at, is that trauma isn't just experiencing something horrible, it's experiencing something outside of your knowledge, and not knowing how to deal with it. That's not wholly accurate, but it'll do for now. The point is, there must have been something about what you did that lay very far outside of Harry's experience for him to react like this."

Silence passed between the two of them, broken only by the consumption of alcohol.

"As I've mentioned before," McGonagall eventually said, "Harry has had a far from happy child-hood. That someone apologizing to him, and showing him physical affection, would be outright traumatizing, I find very disturbing."

"So do I," Pomfrey said.

((()))

When Harry woke, jerking up into a sitting position, it only took him a handful of seconds to realize where he was. Hogwarts Hospital Wing, well into the night judging by the level of light out the window. Harry immediately tried to work through his memories of what had brought him to there; said memories of the previous night flooded through his mind, chased swiftly by hot, furious rage. He did not know _what_ kind of magic McGonagall had used on him, but he did _not_ find it to be acceptable.

First order of business, survival. Harry quickly scanned his body and clothing for traces of another's magic; finding nothing active, he considered his possible routes of escape. After seven seconds of consideration, he directed his magical energies into his barrier, then turned towards the windows.

A sprint and a leap later, he was falling two stories down in a rain of shattered glass.

((()))

The sound of shattering glass abruptly ended McGonagall and Pomfrey's conversation, and the pair bolted out into the infirmary to discover the smashed window, and Harry Potter's empty bed. Horror struck McGonagall's heart, as desperation struck Pomfrey's. McGonagall froze for a moment, while the healer dashed across the room, sticking her head through the large hole smashed into the window, and staring down at the ground below.

She saw nothing even remotely human shaped on the ground below.

"He's gone," She said abruptly, turning to face McGonagall, "This wasn't a suicide attempt, he's running."

"_Running?_" McGonagall said, disbelief tingeing her voice.

"Yes," Pomfrey said, "Running. You've made him vulnerable, and if what you've told me is true, he's learned only one way to react to that: remove the vulnerability. That means getting away from you until he knows how to make sure he is able to prevent you from affecting him the same way again."

"He'll either be attempting to leave the grounds," McGonagall said, "Or return to Gryffindor tower to recover some of his belongings. I'll hurry to the tower, please alert Albus to what has happened."

((()))

Harry efficiently stripped his necessary belongings from his trunk; money (wizard and muggle), his personal notes on his developing magic, day-rations, two season-appropriate durable changes of clothing, his compact sleeping bag, and his invisibility cloak. He heard footsteps moving up the stairs to the boys dorm, and snatched up his English-French dictionary as a last item, then disappeared beneath the cloak.

McGonagall burst into the room seconds later, waking Harry's year-mates instantly.

"Whuu?" Ronald Weasley said intelligently, staring blearily at the witch silhouetted in the doorway, then covering her eyes as she illuminated the entire room with a silent spell.

Her eyes immediately fell on Harry's open trunk, and its clear partially-emptied state.

"Merlin's 'airy armpit," She breathed, turned, and stalked back down out of the dorm.

Harry followed swiftly, intending to follow her through the portrait hole, so as not draw attention by opening it himself. His plan was interrupted, however, by something that troubled his senses, a wariness that his instincts told him to heed, and he held himself back in the stairwell as McGonagall entered the common room.

"Poppy informs me that young Harry is missing."

Harry recognized the voice as Dumbledore's, though the pregnant calm to it was something he had not heard in it before.

"Yes," McGonagall said, "He appears to have fled the infirmary as soon as he woke. He has already been to his dormitory and retrieved some of his belongings, I suspect he is fleeing the grounds as we speak."

"I have allowed your actions during the Summer," Dumbledore said, "Because it has been readily apparent that I made a mistake in placing Harry with the Dursleys, but…"

Harry's rational thoughts came to a crashing halt, as Dumbledore's words connected with what McGonagall had told him earlier. When _Dumbledore_ placed him with the Dursleys…

((()))

Dumbledore was a man well in excess of a hundred years old, and had experienced many, many things during his decades of life. A screaming twelve year old boy attacking him with a knife was new. Honed and well-maintained reflexes had his wand out, and spraying a capture-pattern of conjured ropes at the charging boy before Dumbledore even realized who it was. They struck Harry Potter before he had crossed half the Gryffindor common room; the boy tried to cut the ropes apart with his knife but there were simply too many for him to cut even close to all of them.

He did, however manage to cut the ropes that wound have bound his knife hand, allowing him to partially break his fall when the ropes snared his ankles, sending him tumbling to the floor. Dumbledore stared in shock as the young Potter rolled a half-dozen feet across the floor before coming to a stop. A half-second after his bound position on the floor was stable, the boy hurled his knife at Dumbledore, who deflected it with a spell so simple it didn't even require conscious thought for the master wizard to cast. Harry went for his wand, but McGonagall, finally overcoming her shock enough to act, disarmed him with a silent _Expelliarmus_, and closed her open mouth.

Harry bellowed again in rage, gesturing violently towards Dumbledore with his free hand, and a wave of magical force swept across the room, too diffuse to do much more than force Dumbledore to take a step back in order to maintain his balance, but laying another shock on the senior faculty at his display of wandless magic. When he managed to summon his knife back to himself with another gesture, Dumbledore decided enough was enough, and stunned the boy.

Or tried to. The spell struck Harry directly, but the only effect it had was to jostle the boy slightly. Dumbledore frowned, and disarmed the boy again, though not before he managed to cut several more of the ropes loose. Bereft of weapon and wand, Harry lurched to his feet, and charged Dumbledore again, rage written on his face as he reached out to grapple the aged Headmaster with his bare hands. Dumbledore levitated the boy off the ground, sticking him in mid-air, unable to move.

"What on earth is this all about?" Dumbledore asked.

The boy just snarled again, gesturing with both hands to send another wave of magic at Dumbledore, who neutralized it with a sweep of his wand, then proceeded to wrap the boy in as many conjured bonds as he felt he could without asphyxiating the boy. Then he cast a silencing charm to mute the sound of the boy's incoherent raging, before turning to look at McGonagall severely.

"I have allowed your actions thus far," Dumbledore said, his voice cool, "Because of how the results of my own actions have been less than desireable. If _this_ is to be the outcome of your actions, however, I will be taking personal custody of Harry, to ensure his wellbeing."

And with that, he turned, and preceded the levitated Potter bundle out of the Gryffindor common room, ignoring the small crowd of Gryffindors that had assembled around the base of the stairs, drawn by the sounds of the enraged Potter. McGonagall however, not only would not, she _could _not, they were her Lions, and she was their head of house. She had just been served a _very_ potent example of what came of neglect, and she intended to never again allow such to pass.

"What's happening, Professor?" A frightened young female voice asked, and McGonagall turned to see Ginny Weasley addressing her, hiding mostly behind her eldest brother (amongst those present at Hogwarts, at least), only enough of her head protruding into view for her eyes to be visible.

"What is happening," McGonagall said, sighing as she seated herself tiredly upon one of the couches that populated the common room, "Is the price of many mistakes and injustices coming due, and all of them being paid by one poor boy."

"Wh-what do you mean?" Ginny asked.

"I have learned many disturbing things about young Harry Potter over the last Summer," McGonagall said, gesturing for the assembled Gryffindors to seat themselves, while she lit the fire with her wand.

"What kind of things?" Neville Longbottom asked, some hesitation in his voice.

She told them. Not everything; that wasn't her place, but enough that instead of being frightened of Harry, they were horrified on his behalf.

((()))

When Harry awoke again, he was in a largely empty chamber, laying on one of only four present pieces of furniture. The bed he lay on was the first, the desk and chair the second and third, a book-case filled with second-year texts was the third. A warm breakfast was laid out on a tray on the desk, and Harry's stomach growled. Wasting no time, Harry left the bed, seated himself at the desk, and efficiently devoured the breakfast, studying the room he was within as he did so. There was little of note to it aside from the furniture; its architecture followed the same general lines that he was accustomed to from Hogwarts, and something he couldn't quite identify assured him that yes, he was, in fact, still in the Scottish castle.

There was a single door, but it led to a small, but fully functional bathroom, not an exit. Once he had ascertained that there was no obvious exit, Harry carefully confirmed, with senses both mundane and supernatural, that there was no concealed exit either, though the magic of one section of wall suggested to him that it had been a door not too long ago. The stones were genuine stones though, not conjured, and while he had no doubt they had been moved into place with magic, they were very real, and the magic of Hogwarts was swiftly binding them into itself. With a certain disassociated detachment, Harry noted to himself that yes, he _could _in fact sense the magic now, without needing to extend a tendril of his own magic to make contact with it. This revelation was noted only in passing, as the lion's share of his attention was completely consumed by something else.

He had been placed in a prison again, slightly larger, but ultimately no different than his cupboard at Privet Drive. Harry knew how to deal with prisons. Consciously draining every emotion out of himself except for cold purpose, Harry turned his attention to the texts on the bookshelf, to see if any contained anything useful for his upcoming escape.

((()))

"I've never heard McGonagall so upset before," Percy Weasley said somberly.

"Mate," Lee Jordan said, "I don't think I've seen _anyone_ so upset. Do you think it's true?"

Katie Bell stared at Jordan flatly.

"McGonagall, lie?" She said sarcastically, "Being emotional like that's one thing, but _lying_ on top of it? I'd suspect Polyjuice first."

"No," George Weasley said, "She was talking with us for too long, would've worn off."

Silence passed amongst the assembled Gryffindors for nearly a minute.

"So what do we do?" Lavender Brown finally asked.

"Dunno," Fred Weasley said, "Guess we'll hafta wait until we can talk to Harry won't we?"

"Yes," Percy said, "And in the meantime, I suggest we all get some sleep, with what's left of the night, at any rate."

((()))

"How is he, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked, concern clear in his voice.

"Well," Pomfrey said, sitting back from where she'd been leaning over the unconscious Potter, "The standard diagnostics show slight signs of fatigue, but nothing more. In retrospect, I probably should have done a physical inspection, and deeper scans, the first time he entered my care, but I can rectify that now. Why the sudden need for additional tests?"

"I am concerned," Dumbledore said, "That he may be experiencing psychotic episodes."

"Psychotic episodes?" Pomfrey said, confusion evident in her voice as she began a more detailed scan of the boy, "Considering the amount of stress he's been under, I could see that coming in twenty or thirty years, but at age twelve? What makes you think he's having psychotic episodes?"

"He attacked me," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his own conjured chair, and frowning, "In the Gryffindor common room, for no apparent reason."

Pomfrey completed the spell she had begun casting, examined results which she could only see for a few moments, frowned, then turned to look at Dumbledore.

"Did McGonagall tell you nothing of this boy's history?" Pomfrey asked.

"None of the details," Dumbledore said, "I am, however, aware that he has had a far from happy childhood."

"And Harry is now aware that _you_ were the one who placed him with his aunt and uncle," Pomfrey said, "That does not sound like 'no reason' to me."

Dumbledore could think of no immediate response, and offered none. Pomfrey eventually turned back to Harry, and began casting another spell.

"If you would not mind, Headmaster," She said, "I would like some privacy to engage in my work"

The Headmaster nodded calmly, and left the mediwitch to her work.

Pomfrey, absorbed in her spellwork, only paid enough attention to be certain he was gone, before speaking aloud.

"Now this can't be right," She said, "It doesn't make any sense at all."

((()))

"You wanted to speak to me, Poppy?" McGonagall asked, looking at the weary mediwitch seated on the other side of her desk.

"Yes," Pomfrey said, "Albus had me take another look at Harry, he seemed to be under the impression that Harry was suffering from psychotic episodes, and I began using some more involved diagnostic spells on Harry."

"Go on," McGonagall said when Pomfrey paused, and the mediwitch noticed McGonagall's slightly uncomfortable expression.

"The basic diagnostic charms commonly used are unobtrusive," Pomfrey said, "Deliberately so, when dealing with curses, spells that interact directly with the patient's magic or the curse magic can have severe effects. They instead measure things like the general outline of the patient's body, the fluctuations of pressure over blood vessels, and similar things, to check blood pressure, pulse, body-temperature, for the presence of broken bones, etc. Every time I have examined Harry except possibly for when you brought him to me in shock, I've had no reason to go beyond these charms, and have not; after the Headmaster asked me to inspect him again, however, I began using more intrusive spells."

Pomfrey paused for a moment to order her thoughts before continuing.

"His entire body is warded by a magical barrier that consumes about half his magical energy to maintain itself, it's hard to tell for sure, but as best I can tell, this barrier has been active for _years_. I'm also entirely certain that it's a result of hysterical magic, and maintains itself involuntarily. It took me half an hour to wear far enough past this barrier to actually study it properly. I had to drive him nearly to the point of magical exhaustion, and then over power my own diagnostic charms substantially to pierce the barrier. It only took me so long to do so because I had to be cautious of doing him injury somehow. Albus mentioned that Harry had been resistant to a stunner, and I'm confident this is why."

McGonagall reached down into her desk, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and two glasses.

"It's limited to the strength of his magic, of course," Pomfrey said, "But he's powerful for his age, and this constant use of his magic has built up his endurance like nothing I've seen before. His rate of rejuvenation was strong enough that I couldn't penetrate it again after I left him for ten minutes. Aside from the barrier, he was in remarkably good health, very physically fit, and aside from some scars, nothing else to be concerned about. I've never _seen_ hysterical magic effects this strong though, I think we need to know more about just what happened during Harry Potter's early childhood."

McGonagall passed one glass of Scotch to the mediwitch.

"I believe you are correct," She said, pausing to take a drink before continuing, "I will have to get into contact with Miss Granger. What did Albus have to say about all this?"

Pomfrey looked uncomfortable, and took some time before responding.

"I haven't told him yet," She said eventually, "I'm not entirely sure if I trust him to handle this."

A long, hard silence passed between the two, several minutes of hard thought, and hard liquor passing before either spoke again.

"In all honesty," McGonagall said, "Neither am I, though I hate to admit it. Dumbledore is well past one hundred years old, and holds so many positions of critical importance, I am no longer entirely certain of his ability to keep up with them all."

((()))

"So wotsit you want us 't look at?" Ron asked, looking up and down the corridor curiously.

"Right," George said, "See this wall here? We're pretty sure Harry's behind it. Now have a look 'round the corners, and in the classroom on the sides."

The rest of the Weasley family, aside from Fred, as well as the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and the other second years, all did a circuit around the indicated section of wall, before coming to the same conclusion the twins had.

"There's a space," Percy said, "Perhaps thirty feet by thirty feet, walled in, with no visible entrances. What makes you think Harry is within?"

"We have our ways," Fred said with a smirk, "If one of you lot figures out what's up with the walled in space, we'll show 'em, but don't want to go revealing our tricks to just anyone, eh?"

"Fair enough," Alicia Spinnet said, "Let's get to work."

((()))

Dumbledore sat tiredly behind his desk, thinking. He hadn't slept well the night before, and regardless of how fit he was for his age, he was _still_ well past one hundred years old. Unpleasant thoughts consumed his mind, reflections upon his own mistakes. Clearly, he should have checked up on Harry, but the thought that his own family would treat him _that_ poorly had not even occurred to him, and he had so many _other_ responsibilities…

He was not sure what to do with Harry now, the boy had clearly become unstable. Considering what had apparently happened to him at the Dursleys, his anger at Dumbledore was quite justified, but it did not justify his behavior, and Dumbledore would not, _could _not, expose the rest of the student body to someone so clearly unhinged, especially with his unexpected resistance to magic. The large muggle knife that the boy had been carrying only compounded the issue, he held it not as an unfamiliar tool, but as an accustomed weapon, one which he was at least passingly proficient with.

Normally, under such circumstances (or as close to such as he had encountered before), Dumbledore would have sent the child back to his family, but as his only living blood relations had been in large part the _cause_ of such derangement… Dumbledore did not like the options he found available to himself, especially as they reminded him far too much of another troubled child, a century ago, that he had failed even more greatly than he had already failed poor Harry. The only real options he saw, were to either hand Harry over to the mind-healers at Saint Mungos, a place he could not be assured of Harry's safety, not to mention the social and political repercussions when such a thing became known, or he could hold Harry here at Hogwarts, and try to reason with him, which would be even more taxing upon his time.

It never even occurred to Dumbledore to allow someone else to take control of the situation.

((()))

"Thank you for allowing me to visit on such short notice, Misses Granger," McGonagall said as she stepped into the Granger residence.

"Not at all," The senior Granger woman said, "My daughter was quite eager to speak to you, and she made it clear it was a matter of quite some importance."

McGonagall was rather confused at the comment, as she had not indicated in her letter to Hermione just what she wished to speak of, only that it was about Harry in general, but did not let her slight confusion show.

"Hermione is waiting for you in the library," Mrs. Granger said, indicating a door on the left side of the entrance hallway, "She's rather eager."

"Thank you," McGonagall said again, nodded, and proceeded through the indicated door.

Inside, she found a modestly sized library, rather large compared to the house it was a part of, packed absolutely to the brim with books. Tucked into a large overstuffed chair was Hermione Granger, her chair flanked by a pair of end tables, both of which were perilously over-populated with an assortment of open and closed books, notes, writing utensils, and one photo album.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, and the bushy brunette jumped slightly, looking up from the ponderous tome she had been working through.

"Oh!" Hermione said, "Professor McGonagall, I'm glad you could come so soon, you really must see this…"

The girl trailed off, setting the book she had been reading aside, and pulling another from the stacks on the end table to her left. McGonagall moved herself to one of the other seats in the library, and repositioned it slightly so that she ended up seated directly across from the Granger girl, only a few feet away.

"Here it is," Hermione said, and passed the book, now open to a specific page, across to McGonagall, "This is a list of all the death-eater trials that took place in the year following Voldemort's fall, I found it in my research as to what came of the people depicted in Harry's photo-album."

McGonagall accepted the book, and swiftly looked over the names. While she had not seen the list of names compiled in one location before, she was far from unfamiliar with the names on it; almost all of them had been her pupils before they had gone bad, or in some cases _while_ they had gone bad. She did not notice anything in particular, except for painful memories, so looked it over again, with a bit more care, but still failed to notice what it was that had drawn Hermione Granger's attention.

"I am unsure as to what it is you are intending to draw my attention to, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, looking up at the young Granger, "Most of what I find in this list are the names of students I wish had turned out better."

"Sirius Black's name isn't on the list," Hermione said seriously.

McGonagall opened her mouth to respond, then stopped to think. Sirius Black had been James Potter's best friend, until he had betrayed him to Voldemort, killed Peter Pettigrew and a large number of muggles, then been sent to Azkaban. Sent to Azkaban within days of when Harry had been sent to the Dursleys. Apparently, sent to Azkaban, where he had spent the last _ten years, __without trial_.

"I see," McGonagall said sternly, "Have you been able to find any indication that this list may be in error, or other sources that indicate his trial was held?"

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head, "Misses Tonks and I even went to the Ministry Archives together to search them, and found nothing about a trial."

"Well," McGonagall said, an edge entering her voice, "I shall have to speak with Albus about this when I return to Hogwarts. As Chief Warlock, this is his responsibility." Her voice softened, before she continued, "There is something else I wished to speak with you about, Miss Granger."

"Oh?" Hermione said, looking at McGonagall expectantly.

"There've been some troubles with Harry," McGonagall said, a slight tinge of discomfort showing through her stern façade, "Amongst other things, he discovered that the Headmaster was responsible for his placement with the Dursleys, and attacked him in a fit of rage."

Hermione went white.

"Neither were hurt," McGonagall continued, "Though Harry was surprisingly difficult to subdue. Madam Pomphrey has since informed me that his magic appears to maintain a constant magical barrier within his body, one which makes him heavily resistant to spells and physical damage. She believes it's a result of hysterical magic from years in the past. I had intended to respect Harry's privacy as much in this regard as I could, but I feel that at this point I must know more of what has happened."

Hermione's brow furrowed, and she chewed her lip, clearly worried. McGonagall gave her time to think. After a few minutes silence, she spoke.

"I don't think it would be right for me to tell you what I've discovered," Hermione said eventually, "Or at least, Harry wouldn't see it that way. I've already told you more about things he'd probably prefer kept quiet than I'd like," She paused, and took a deep breath, turning to meet McGonagall's gaze directly, "I will, however, tell you that Petunia Dursley knows, and give you her address."

((()))

McGonagall inspected Number 4 Privet Drive critically. It was a far cry from what she had seen eleven years ago, the rough, uncut lawn running up to a simple vegetable garden directly in front of the house, which, while clearly well-maintained, was rather dull and faded compared to its near-pristine neighbors. It took no great stretch of the imagination for McGonagall to realize the difference was almost certainly related to the cause of her visit. Steeling her purpose, she strode to the front door, and knocked loudly three times. It took only a few moments for the door to be answered.

"Yes?" The woman McGonagall immediately recognized as Petunia Dursley said, opening the door to find McGonagall standing there.

Like the house, this was a very different Petunia Dursley than what McGonagall had seen years ago. She wore a simple, functional blouse and trousers, no sign of make-up, and her hair was arranged in a utilitarian ponytail. The largest change, however, was in the woman's bearing and expression. Where before the bony woman had positively reeked of snobbish hauteur, her carriage now emanated a simple tired determination. Further, her former near-unhealthy light weight had filled out to a much more normal, and healthy, level of body fat, which McGonagall could tell was backed with the muscle of someone who engages in regularly tiring, if not particularly strenuous, physical activity. McGonagall was of the opinion that the change suited the woman, who now, rather than striking McGonagall as horse-faced, made her think of a mare that had fallen on harder times; lean, but still clearly feminine. A person of character rather than pride.

"I am Minerva McGonagall," McGonagall said sternly, "Assistant Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Harry Potter's head of house. I need to speak with you of Harry's childhood."

Petunia nodded, stepping out of the doorway and gesturing for McGonagall to enter. It wasn't hard for McGonagall to recognize that Petunia had been expecting something like this sooner or later.

"Would you like some tea?" Petunia asked with rote courtesy, but McGonagall shook her head.

"I would not think it appropriate for the probable contents of our conversation," She said.

Petunia nodded, and escorted McGonagall into her living room, and gestured for her to take a seat in a high-quality couch, while seating herself in a very worn, if still functional armchair to face the elder woman directly.

"I knew a visit like this would come sooner or later," She said calmly, "All I ask is that you let me finish the story once I begin telling it."

McGonagall nodded briskly, and gestured for Petunia Dursley to begin telling her tale.

"The story, properly, begins when I was twelve years old, and Lily ten, and she received her Hogwarts letter. Up until that point, our family life had been only somewhat odd, between Lily's occasional bouts of accidental magic, and my own slowly developing jealousy over how much prettier Lily was than I. There was also her relationship with that Snape fellow, who I honestly was feeling protective about her over at the time. He was, after all, exactly the sort that our mother told us to be wary of. I was a foolish child at the time, and handled such things poorly, but we probably both would have grown out of it, if Lily hadn't gone off to Hogwarts."

Petunia looked at McGonagall meaningfully before continuing.

"I do not blame your school, or Lily, or even Lily departing, for my own decisions since then, I have had a great deal of time to think on what I have done with my life in the last few years, and recognized many, _many_ could-have-beens. That aside, whereas I had only been somewhat jealous of Lily's more attractive looks before, as she returned home each summer, that jealousy increased steadily intensity, until she returned after her fifth year, and it went completely out of control. I'm sure you, as a woman, can understand how a mysterious sister appearing during the summer, from a secretive but prestigious school in Scotland, with gorgeous red hair, green eyes, a beautiful figure and clear complexion, would draw all the young men's attention away from one with such commonplace, even homely looks, as myself."

Petunia sighed, before continuing.

"That our parents doted on her during the months she was around did not help. Perhaps the worst, was that Lily did not take advantage of her social status, or lord it over me, but instead refused invitation to social meetings with our peers unless I was also included. Up until the summer after fifth year, I was willing to pay more attention to how she treated me herself, than how others treated me compared to her. In hindsight, it was such a stupid thing that changed my mind. There was a boy I was interested in, who had displayed some hints of interest in return towards the end of the year, until Summer came, and Lily returned. Once she was around, he wouldn't give me the time of day."

Petunia stopped for a moment, looking at her hands, held carefully in her lap.

"Something inside me broke, and I began to _hate_ my sister. Even after more than a decade and a half, now that I no longer see my memories through the lens of hatred, I realize just how much I hurt my younger sister when I rejected her, and began to shun her. I practically had a party when she returned to Hogwarts at the end of the Summer, and arranged for myself to go on a trip the next Summer, for nearly the entire time that she was at our family home. I was already at university when she graduated from Hogwarts, and married James Potter. I never met James Potter, I didn't even reply to her wedding invitation."

Tears came to Petunia's eyes, and she had to pause for a moment before continuing.

"Our parents told me that she had two seats reserved at the ceremony, and the reception, just in case I showed up anyways, the second in case I had met a man for myself. To this day, I cannot understand how Lily was so forgiving, I certainly didn't deserve it. When I saw the wedding pictures, how handsome James was, just the way he _looked_ at her, with so much _love_ in his eyes, it seemed he was everything that she had denied me, through just being _better_ than me in every conceivable way. When I saw those pictures, my hatred became something more, something that scares me even to remember. It became transcendent, utterly dominating me in anything that related to my sister. I was a stupid, petty, horrible woman."

Petunia paused to wipe her eyes.

"It was shortly after Lily's wedding that I met Vernon. At the time, he was a very physically fit man, a competent, if not particularly outstanding rugby player, and a man of _great_ passion. I didn't realize it until afterwards, but I was little more to him than another conquest, and a cheap one at that. Within a month of meeting, we were sleeping regularly together, and he probably would have left me within another month, if I hadn't gotten pregnant with Dudley. While Vernon may have been something of a cad, he was not completely without honor, and married me post-haste. Always one for decisive action, he even had the grace to make it look like we had eloped as impetuous young lovers, taking a week off from university to visit Bermuda. He acted quickly enough that no one, aside from the midwife, paid particular attention to Dudley's birth date compared to the date of our wedding.

"Dudley was a healthy, strong child, even as an infant, and for perhaps half a year, I held genuine hope of happiness with Vernon, as he took pride in his son. It didn't last though. By the end of the first year, he had begun to become abusive."

She paused for a moment, and her tone was cold and when she continued.

"He was of the opinion that he deserved 'better' than me. He made many remarks about many things, but the one thing I could not change, my appearance, was the one that cut the deepest, because I knew that he had not intended to marry me, would not have if it hadn't been for Dudley. He wanted someone more physically attractive, and I suspect that he had a number of affairs through the later years of our marriage, though at the time I was too afraid to find out. I still am too afraid, I suppose. I became a perfectionist, driving myself to meet his exacting standards for how the house and yard should be maintained, and I am still somewhat proud to admit that I was able to exceed his standards with my own in this regard. It did not help as I had hoped though, instead he simply focused all the more on my physical appearance, which played directly into my hatred of my sister.

"Then my sister's only child arrived on our doorstep, with word of her and her husband's death."

Petunia's expression became rigid, and she spoke the next words with great difficulty.

"My greatest shame, to this day," She said haltingly, "Is the sense of vengeful satisfaction I felt when I read of Lily's death."

McGonagall recoiled at these words, utterly appalled. Petunia looked away, her face burning red with shame, but she forced herself to continue.

"To my twisted mind at the time, Harry's arrival seemed at first a curse, then a gift. Vernon demanded to know who the child was, and I, thoroughly under his heel, told him everything. He did not believe me, and I suffered for my 'lies' for a week, until it happened that Vernon was in the kitchen, when Harry summoned Dudley's bottle from across the room. At this point I discovered that Vernon's distaste for the unnatural exceeded his own dissatisfaction with my appearance, and Harry became a second focus for his antipathy. Again to my shame, I took ruthless advantage of this, and in my hatred of his mother, redirected Vernon's rages from myself, to the child, as often as I could.

"At first, it seemed relatively harmless, even Vernon would not strike an infant, and would only rage at him verbally. If he had been a man to concern himself with 'woman's work,' such as feeding infants, he may have forbade me from feeding Harry, but his thoughts simply did not move in such ways. Once Harry was old enough to begin talking, and walking independently, Vernon's abuse began to slip into the physical, and escalate as Harry grew. Once Harry was eating at the table, Vernon _did_ begin to forbid him food, and I am entirely certain that Harry's growth has been substantially stunted.

Petunia took a deep breath, and turned to face McGonagall again, her face still burning with shame, but her eyes sending a clear message that she would not deny her own shame.

"Harry also has his mother's eyes, I am sure you have noticed. As they grew from an infant's eyes, into the eyes of a child, the resemblance became stronger and stronger, and by the time he was five years old, the association was so strong in my mind, that my hatred of Lily had rather firmly grown to cover her child as well, and I began to inspire Vernon's rages at Harry deliberately, as a petty revenge upon Lily. It…"

Petunia broke off, unable to find words, and was silent for a long moment.

"At this point, I can barely comprehend how I could do such a thing, even once, much less repeatedly, for years. I did not even _think_ about the example it was setting for Dudley, so consuming was my hatred. By the time Harry was seven, the abuse had become severe, sometimes Harry would be forbidden food two weeks out of a month, I am certain Vernon broke fingers, toes, or ribs several times. In a way, I am amazed the boy did not try to run away. In my studies of child psychology since then, I've realized that he most probably did not think anyone else would treat him any better. Vernon had old school friends in the school and local educational offices, who prevented attention from being drawn to Harry's condition, which rather frightens me, considering how blatant his condition compared to Dudley was.

"It all came to a head when Harry was nine. By that point, he no longer fought or argued with us, simply submitted to the beatings he received, though with surprising resiliency, that I now suspect was some artifact of his magical abilities. It was more than somewhat surprising then, when Dudley returned from school, to tell us that Harry had attacked him. Once Vernon had returned home, he had me call Harry into the kitchen, and attacked him with a seven-iron, striking him full-force across the forehead with his first swing. Vernon was a large, powerful man, even though he had become quite portly by this time, and the blow would have killed a full-grown man, but it merely knocked Harry unconscious."

Petunia paused again, and it took quite some time for her to find the words and composure she needed to continue.

"My memories of what happened next are… fragmented, I still do not understand it all," Petunia said hesitantly, "But some parts are exceedingly clear, and the outcome of the unclear parts was not difficult to discern once the police arrived at the scene. A bloody specter of my younger sister appeared, and attacked Vernon, nearly killing him. He attempted to strike her with the golf club several times, but it simply passed through her with very little noticeable effect, though he caught me in the arm unintentionally with one of his swings, breaking my arm. What she did to Vernon…

Petunia broke off for a moment, her face paling considerably before she managed to continue.

"There was _so much blood._ Everywhere. I did not know that the human body could hold so much blood. I do not remember it, but according to the report the neighbors gave the police, I was screaming almost non-stop for five minutes. After she was done with Vernon, Lily spoke with me, and she was not so forgiving as she had once been, not in the least.

"'Petunia Evans,' she told me, 'It is only because of Albus Dumbledore's foolishly-cast protections that I leave you with your life. You will take care of my son as you would your own, or when we next meet, you will learn the full horror of what a witch can inflict upon a defenseless muggle.' Then she dissolved. Most of the rest of my memory of that night is a blur, but according to the police reports, they found me lying in a pool of my husband's blood, in shock."

More than a minute passed in silence, while Petunia regained her composure, and McGonagall digested what she had been told.

"The official police findings were that I had stopped my husband from killing my nephew, receiving injury in the process myself. That, and the fact that I could honestly testify that I had never struck Harry myself, are the only reasons I am not in prison as well. I nearly lost Dudley and Harry to child services anyways. Once Harry was released from the hospital, he returned here, where we have maintained a distant relationship ever since. I have taken a very few cautious steps to attempt to build some form of healthy relationship, but it is likely the boy simply does not believe _anybody_ cares about him, and certainly does not believe that I do."

They sat for several silent minutes, Petunia half-lost in painful memories, McGonagall integrating her new knowledge into what she already knew of Harry.

"Harry attacked Headmaster Dumbledore in a fit of rage last night," She eventually said, "After discovering that he was the one to place him with you."

Petunia winced.

"I can't blame him," Petunia said softly, "Though I am surprised he would display so much emotion. In a way, I am encouraged. I've not seen one smidgen of feeling, except for scorn, out of him, since he was eight years old."

"It is only the second time I have seen him display emotion openly," McGonagall said, "The first time was last year, when he saved a fellow first year student from a Troll. I was scolding him for putting himself in a place of danger, and he was arguing, correctly in hindsight, that he needed to act, or young Miss Granger would have been killed. He was quite angry with me, though he only displayed it very briefly."

Petunia nodded sadly.

"When I looked into the matter later, Harry had in fact attacked Dudley that day, in order to stop him from picking on a young girl. Apparently, Harry had learned to evade all of Dudley's attempts at bullying at school, and out of frustration, he was turning to a new target. I'm glad to hear he is still willing to stand up for others, they are the only signs I have seen that he has not turned into a sociopath."

McGonagall nodded sternly, staring at the younger woman, who met her gaze with determination.

"Your behavior has been reprehensible, Misses Dursley," She said eventually, her voice severe, "But you appear to have fully realized the scope of your sin, and are attempting to make amends. See that you continue in this path. If it ever becomes known in the magical world what happened to Harry in this house, at the hands of muggles, it would inflame anti-muggle sentiment through wizarding England, and you would probably find yourself dead at the hands of vigilantes."

"It would be no more than I deserve," Petunia said without hesitation, "If such comes to pass, I would ask that you find a good home for my own son, and explain to him that what I received was no more than I deserved."

McGonagall nodded sternly.

"I will do as I can. I am currently unwilling to trust the systems of government with the care of any child I know. You sell yourself short, however. It takes great moral character to change as you have, and it is women such as yourself who can make a great difference within society, magical or muggle."

Petunia started slightly at McGonagall's remark, and stared at the elder woman in bewilderment as the Transfiguration professor stood.

"Thank you for your time, Misses Dursley," McGonagall said.

"Actually," Petunia interjected softly, "It's Evans now, again."

"I'm glad to hear it," McGonagall said, smiling slightly, "As I said, thank you for the time, but even on the weekend, Hogwarts requires much time of its faculty, and I must be off."

"I only hope what I have told you can help Harry," Petunia said, "God Bless you, and I hope you do better for the child than I have."

"I shall do what I may," McGonagall said, nodding respectfully to Petunia, then disappearing with a sharp crack.

((()))

Harry Potter sat silently on the stone floor, his eyes closed. He was facing the bed, seated ten feet away from it, and his wand was resting on top of it, directly in front of him. Carefully, calmly, he shaped the spell in his mind, the way the magic moved in response to word, to motion, to wand, building up the energy. Then his eyes snapped open, and he threw the magic forth. It latched onto his wand, and summoned it to his outstretched hand.

"Excellent," He said quietly, "Now for speed."

((()))

"Nothing," Percy said, prim irritation clear in his tone, as he stared at the unchanged wall, "Absolutely nothing."

"Wadya 'xpect?" George said, "'s Dumbledore's work. Bit of a top notch wizard innit he?"

Percy nodded curtly.

"Won't stop us from trying," Angelina said, "After all, it's hard to have a Quidditch team without a Seeker."

"Damn straight!" Oliver Wood burst out, "Now less talking, more spell-cracking!"

((()))

Hermione Granger felt a little guilty, something she knew objectively she really shouldn't, if Harry was in trouble and Professor McGonagall needed to know about his past to help him, she needed to know. She'd also avoided telling what she knew directly, and _knew_ that McGonagall would have found the Dursleys eventually anyways, and wasting time wouldn't have helped anyone…

But Harry was still a _very_ private person, and would probably see it as a betrayal. Hermione's heart wasn't as able to justify her actions as her mind could, no matter how rational her actions had been. Groaning to herself in frustration, Hermione pulled out a new piece of notebook paper, and began to pen a letter to send to Harry.

((()))

"Albus," McGonagall said, "It's time we spoke of Harry."

Dumbledore looked up from his tea, meeting McGonagall's gaze evenly.

"I suppose," He said, "That there is no time like the present. What about him do you wish to discuss?"

"I learned a great deal about Harry's time with the Dursleys from Petunia," McGonagall said, "Things I think you should know."

((()))

Harry 'held' the book above his hand. It had taken him two days to gain a reasonable degree of capability with the summoning charm wandlessly, and though he was not as swift with it as he would have liked, something else had caught his attention. His power was growing, and noticeably. He had known that magical strength, like physical strength, would grow with time, but it had certainly _not_ been growing so fast he could _feel_ the difference hour by hour before. It was very slight, but the fact that the rate of growth was substantial enough that he _could_ notice it said volumes in and of itself. He suspected it was tied to the fact that he seemed to be entering puberty, but was not certain.

He _dearly_ wished he could Owl Hermione to ask her to look into it, but he, of course, had no access to mail from within his prison. So instead, he practiced his control with a wandless hovering charm, holding one of the books that was functionally useless to him in the air, and moving it about as he felt able. It was not as though he had anything better to do.

((()))

Dumbledore groaned, leaning back in his chair, and to McGonagall's eyes, showed more of his age than he ever had before. A certain wry humor came to her, however, when he reached into a drawer of his desk, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and accompanying glasses. He quietly filled both glasses, then extended one across the desk to her, before downing his own _very_ quickly.

"I have erred even more greatly than I thought," Dumbledore said quietly, weariness nearly drowning his words out.

"Indeed," McGonagall said sternly, but not harshly, "And I erred in allowing it."

Silence passed between them for some time.

"You're getting old, Albus," McGonagall eventually said, her tone softer than many of her students would have believed possible, "And you've spread yourself too thin. You hold three extremely demanding positions, of which, quite frankly, Hogwarts can the most afford your neglect in. You and I both know that it's only the respect the ICW has for you personally that has prevented Wizarding England from being ostracized, and your work in the Wizengamot is critical for keeping the blood supremacists from gaining more power. I know how much you love Hogwarts Albus, but of the three titles you hold, Headmaster is the only one with a ready, competent replacement on hand."

Albus closed his eyes, and nodded tiredly.

"I will retire at the end of the year," He said sadly, "And recommend the board place you as my successor. It saddens me to realize I am no longer up to the task, but even I am not immortal. I should have noticed sooner."

McGonagall laughed harshly at that.

"_That_ is hardly your fault," McGonagall said, "Everyone in Wizarding England, including myself, has been too enamored of your legend to criticize you. If no one will call you on your mistakes, how will you ever see them?"

"That does not remove my responsibility," Dumbldore said tiredly, "Leadership is a position of responsibility, the higher the position, the greater the responsibility. I have allowed a great deal of harm to Harry, and through my neglect, to the many students of Severus."

McGonagall did not respond; she knew the man before her well enough to know that nothing she could say was capable of cutting him more deeply than his own guilt, now that he had realized his wrong. Nor would she.

"I suggest you tell the staff in the meantime," McGonagall said, "And remand Harry to my care."

For a moment, Dumbledore looked as though he was going to protest, but stilled himself.

"I suppose," He said with a wry smile, "I _have_ rather proved my judgement is not the best where he is concerned."

"I suppose," McGonagall said in sad agreement.

"Very well," Dumbledore said, rising slowly from his chair, "I will give you access to Harry's room first thing in the morning. In the meantime, however, it's time for me to put these old bones to bed."

"I could use some sleep myself," McGonagall said, also rising, "I'm not as young as I used to be either."

"Goodnight, Minerva."

"Goodnight, Albus."

((()))

Harry's eyes snapped open, his wand came to his hand, and was trained on the door that had not been there a moment ago before it even opened fully. In the doorway stood Minerva McGonagall; Harry did not lower his wand, but neither did he attempt any form of spellcasting.

"Hello, Mister Potter," McGonagall said cordially, "I am sorry it took so long to persuade the Headmaster to release you, but I had to spend some time looking into your past, in order to bring him enough information to convince him. He will be retiring from his position here at Hogwarts at the end of the year."

Harry remained motionless, utterly silent as he stared at McGonagall and considered her words.

"What guarantee do I have that he will not try to imprison me again?" Harry asked, his voice utterly devoid of emotion.

"If he does so for anything less than an utterly justified reason," McGonagall said, "Your guarantee is with me. If he confines you again, I will release to the _Daily Prophet_ what happened to you in the Dursley's care, where he placed you, and his political opponents will tear him apart. He will be forced to release you post haste, and almost certainly be removed from Hogwarts by force."

Harry's eyes were suddenly fierce as they scoured McGonagall's face, looking for any hint of deception.

"You speak truth," He said eventually, "If something like this happens again though, I will be leaving Hogwarts, by whatever means necessary."

"I do not find that agreeable," McGonagall said, "But I believe I have enough of your measure to know it would be counter-productive to try and stop you. Please do not do so lightly though."

Harry's jaw flexed slightly, a gesture of aggravation that struck McGonagall as horribly out of place on a twelve year old boy, but he nodded, stood, and walked towards McGonagall and the exit.

"I wish to spend some time out doors," He said as he passed her into the castle hall.

"If you would not mind some company," McGonagall said, "I would like to speak with you in the mean time."

Harry's head snapped around as he stared at his head of house in wary shock. There had been no mistaking how she had addressed him; it had been as an equal, with a tone of respect. She met his gaze evenly.

"There is no need to be so surprised," McGonagall said evenly, "You are twelve years old, Harry, and have suffered more abuse than most do in a lifetime. What you have endured would drive most men mad. Yet instead, you are cool, controlled, if a little obsessive, and have twice put your life on the line to protect people you did not even know."

She knelt down to met his gaze from an even level this time.

"In some ways you are an adult, in some ways you are yet a child, but I can not think of any man in my life who has shown finer character than you have, and none who have shown _as_ fine character after suffering so much for such senseless reasons."

She stood again, and gestured for him to join her in heading towards the nearest staircase.

"If that is not worth respect," She said as they began to move, "Then nothing is."

End Chapter 3.

((()))

"Thus it may be known that the leader of armies is the arbiter of the people's fate, the man on whom it depends whether the nation shall be in peace or in peril."

-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 2, Section 20.

((()))

AN from revision: As I was working back over this, it made me realize again, and even more, just how bad a hand Rowling dealt Petunia. Lily is beautiful, with red hair and green eyes, the rarest and most 'exotic' color types in the 'white' ethnic type, Petunia isn't just ugly, she's _horse-faced_. Sure, she's a pretty reprehensible person in canon, but Rowling seriously screwed the woman over, just to make her less likeable.

Old Author's Note:

Someone mentioned concern about how Dudley's education is being paid for; first, Petunia would deliberately _not_ send Dudley to Smeltings, look at how Vernon ended up. Second, Petunia is working a day job; it simply never needed to be mentioned in the story's flow.

The other thought I'm responding to, is someone mentioned that Harry needs to realize he has someone he can depend on, and open up to them. This is very true, but Harry is not aware of that. It's one of the endemic problems common in western society, and particularly in the US; someone is hurt deeply, and closes themselves off, denying themselves any chance at receiving help. Generally, this closed-offness applies to the area of life they were hurt in; friendship, romantic relationship, parent/child relationship, etc. They'll often try to find a new relationship, or partially rebuild the broken one, but a part of them they keep hidden away, and never allow to heal. It eats at them, and just makes them overall less happy, or more miserable in general. Then they get hurt again, and tuck another part of themselves away. And again. And again. And again.

Until you get people that, if they're like Harry, are bitter and isolated, only occasionally popping out to help people in obvious need, and otherwise keeping everybody at arm's length. Or, you get people who start blaming the entire world for what happened to them, and those like Voldemort (who is quite possibly the only realistically developed character psychologically in the entire cannon Harry Potter series.) Some people just can't handle the pain, and go mad; attempting suicide if they tend more towards depressive, or violent crime; murder, rape, if they tend more towards anger/aggressive.

It's a vicious cycle, one most people aren't consciously aware of, and the farther you go into it, the harder it is to break. Worse, since this is happening to nearly everybody in western society, it's a self-reinforcing cycle, as people become more and more isolated from each other, they become less sensitive, more bitter, and hurt each other more and more both unintentionally and intentionally.


	5. Chapter 4

Revised AN: I removed the long, old, opening AN. You're welcome. This is an hour or so later than I would have like to post, but I had unexpected company over. Also, a heads up, I've finally E-published some stuff in my original setting; for those who are interested, there's a link on my profile page, though this is the stuff I actually charge for. Please feed the author!

((()))

Chapter 4

((()))

Harry joined the whispering crowd in the stairwell, and climbed partway onto the banister in order to see what had their attention. He saw the corpse of the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris, laid out on the second floor landing. None of the other students cared to approach the cat too closely, instead preferring to gawk.

"Excuse me," Harry said, and began pushing his way through the crowd as politely as he could manage, until he reached the small clear space around Mrs. Norris.

_ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE, THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS OPENS ONCE MORE!_

After making careful mental note of the specific wording, as well as style of writing, Harry bent over to check on the cat. He first held his hand over the cat's nostrils, then after finding no sign of breathing, waved his wand over the cat in a few random gestures, and mumbled under his breath. The gestures and words did nothing but establish a plausible cover should he need it, while he carefully swept a tendril of his magic around, and then through, the cat's corpse. The corpse was practically overflowing with some form of malignant, dark magic, and Harry withdrew his hand, carefully to avoid actually touching the creature.

"And what are you doing, Potter?" The silky hiss of Severus Snape's voice sounded.

"Attempting to determine the cause of death, sir," Harry said, tone carefully neutral, as he resisted the urge to look at the professor, "It appears to be magical, as there is no sign of physical trauma, asphyxiation, or drowning. Poison is possible, but seems unlikely, as Mister Filch feeds his pet personally, and it would seem pointless to go to great lengths to poison a cat with a poison that does not leave obvious trace. Disease is also possible but unlikely, but I have heard nothing of Misses Norris showing any symptoms prior to this point."

Snape stared silently at Harry, but it was some time before he said anything.

"Very good, Potter," Snape said eventually, "Your head of house will be arriving shortly to handle this."

And with that, he left. Harry was so shocked that he froze for a moment; this interaction was nothing like anything he had found any reason to expect of Snape thus far, and he was uncertain…

_Ah,_ Harry thought, _McGonagall's influence._ The Scotswoman _did_ hold authority over Snape as the Deputy Headmistress. Turning at the sound of approaching footsteps, Harry saw McGonagall approaching, already opening her mouth to ask him what was going on. After a couple minutes to fill McGonagall in on what he had already told Snape, the senior professor turned to look down at the dead cat, frowning severely.

"Mister Filch will be most upset," McGonagall said, "This could simply be, and most likely is the work of an overly vindictive student, taking revenge on the caretaker," She sighed, before continuing, "Still, no point in taking chances."

With a flick of her wand, she levitated the cat's corpse into the air, and began moving towards the infirmary.

"Save for Mister Potter or Prefects," McGonagall said as the crowd moved to follow her, "None of you are to follow me."

"Why does Harry get to go with?" Someone in the crowd asked.

"Because he did something useful, rather than stand around gawking foolishly," McGonagall said.

Grumbling, the crowd dispersed, save for a pair of prefects following McGonagall. None of the other students noticed that Harry had remained at the site where the cat was found, inspecting the surrounding corridor and other rooms. It took Harry nearly half an hour to find the shred of leathery green material wedged into one of the banister joints of the stairwell, but Harry was certain that its strong magical signature meant it was most likely the clue he was looking for. He still spent another half hour searching for other clues, before heading to the Owlery to contact Hermione.

((()))

"Definitely some form of snake," Daniel Trent, Professor of Herpetology, said, "Big bugger too. Don't suppose you've got a larger sample?"

"Sorry," Hermione said, shaking her head even though the professor was in the process of inserting the shred of scale into a microscope and focusing it.

"A shame," Trent said, "Judging by the proportions, this blighter is at least fifteen meters long."

"Fifteen meters?" Hermione said faintly, going distinctly white.

"Yeah," Trent said, not noticing the change in Hermione's tone, "I'd give it a margin of error of about three meters, but he's a big blighter, whatever exactly he ends up at. Where did you say you got this?"

"A friend who needs a warning," Hermione said, dashing out of the laboratory.

((()))

"Oy, Harry," George Weasley said quietly, and Harry's attention immediately focused on the Weasley's voice.

Harry quickly looked up and down the corridor he had been walking through, but was unable to spot the Weasley. Sweeping a quick magical probe of the corridor did not reveal anything either, and Harry dropped into a wary stance, drawing his wand. A wry chuckle drew his attention again, and Harry trained his wand on the source of the sound. A moment later, there was a ripple in the air, and a pair of red-headed twins appeared, one pulling an invisibility cloak to his side.

"'Lo Harry," The other twin said, smiling broadly "Glad you're out again, we had the whole Quidditch team and some of the Prefects with us, but still weren't sure if we'd be able to break you out. This is your cloak, innit?"

"Yes," Harry said warily, lowering his wand, but keeping it in his hand.

"'S awesome," The first twin said, tossing it to Harry, "Found it on the stairs in the dorm the night you attacked Dumbledore."

"We made some discreet inquiries," The second twin said, "Nobody seemed to be missing it, and you were the only one we couldn't ask, until you got out on Tuesday."

Harry raised the cloak in front of him, carefully inspecting it while he could still see the twins, albeit distorted, through its near-transparent material. He also probed the cloak heavily with his magic, but in neither case could he find anything changed from what he already knew of it. So, after stowing his wand, he carefully folded it, then placed it into his pocket, not looking away from the Weasleys the entire time.

"You saw my attack on Dumbledore?" He eventually said.

"Mate," The first twin said, "Most of Gryffindor saw it."

"You really think you can make that much noise without people noticin'?" The second twin asked.

Harry frowned almost imperceptibly. _I should have thought of this,_ he realized, _such loss of control is unacceptable_.

"I suppose I was somewhat preoccupied at the time," Harry said evenly.

Both the twins snorted; one rolled his eyes.

"Fair enough, mate," The second twin said, "Anyways, we'd like to make a deal with you."

"You let us borrow the cloak sometimes," The first twin said, "And we'll let you borrow something right useful of ours."

"What would that be?" Harry asked.

The first twin grinned, pulling out an old piece of parchment.

"It's called," He said dramatically, "The Marauders' map…"

((()))

When Harry found Luna Lovegood the first time, she was having tea with the inhabitants of one of the castle's portraits. The girl had her own teapot and cup, and was sitting on a picnic blanket, while the occupants of the portrait did likewise in their illustrated meadow. Harry paid it a few moments of attention as he passed the girl in the corridor, since it _was_ a highly unusual occurrence, but ultimately determined it was of no particular importance to him, and continued down the corridor.

((()))

Harry was alone, so he allowed the fierce grin he felt within to roll across his face. Placed before him, on the floor of an unused classroom, was the Marauders Map, showing a far more complete map of Hogwarts than any he'd seen before. An extensive array of secret passages, both within, and leading out of the castle and grounds, were clearly marked, and would be quite useful. More importantly, however, every living creature with a name was shown, and labeled. Harry's grin passed beyond 'fierce' and into 'terrifying.'

He could _definitely _make use of this.

((()))

"Oy," Katie Bell said, "Harry, could we talk to you for a few minutes?"

Harry, who had been a little bit more than halfway across the common room on his way out, turned to face the Chaser, and saw that the rest of the Quidditch team was seated together. They had unusually somber expressions on their faces, which Harry found made him hesitant to join them. As he could not think of a legitimate reason not to, however, he walked across to the set of couches they were at, and sat down slightly apart from the others.

"Harry," Katie said softly, "You've probably heard by now, that most of the house saw your fight with Dumbledore, and that McGonagall explained why afterwards."

Harry nodded, keeping his expression carefully blank.

"Well," Katie said carefully, "She told us that your uncle was in prison for thirty years for child abuse, but said that the details were private. She only told us as much as she did because she wanted us to understand that you weren't attacking without reason, and that even men like Dumbledore make mistakes, and they can have really nasty consequences. She said that if she heard about us swarming you and asking 'impolite and invasive questions' the whole lot of us would be in trouble. We already know you're a very private person, it's hard to miss with how you behave all the time, but just wanted to let you know that since we're not only housemates, but also teammates, if you ever _do_ want to talk about any of that stuff, or have any questions about the Wizarding world since you grew up muggle, we're here."

The other two chasers nodded emphatically, the Weasley twins grinned broadly, while Wood just looked at Harry. Harry sat, his control slightly strained, as he tried to figure out just what the emotional response that had been evoked within him meant. Half a minute later, he was no closer to figuring it out, and it was becoming disturbingly difficult to maintain his neutral expression.

"Thank you for your offer," Harry said, standing, "I am not certain how to respond to it, but must attend to other things now. Goodbye."

He left.

((()))

"A snake, estimated length of forty-nine feet, with a sixteen foot margin of error," Harry said, "Considering the condition of the cat, Hermione thinks it is most likely a Basilisk."

McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath, leaning back in her chair before opening her eyes to gaze across her desk at Harry.

"That would be consistent with Salazar Slytherin's affinity for snakes," She said eventually, "And considering both the near-limitless lifespan, and the powerful natural magics possessed by Basilisks, it would certainly be the sort of creature Slytherin would place within the chamber."

Harry nodded, but said nothing, watching the deputy headmistress carefully. It was some time before she spoke again.

"Unfortunately," McGonagall said, "I cannot send the students away to safety based upon the suspicion of such a thing, especially considering how the Wizarding world would regard such evidence from a muggle source. This still _could_ be nothing more than a wretched prank, even if I am all but certain it is not."

"What will you do then?" Harry asked, carefully keeping the disappointment from his voice.

"I will use a cat's-paw," McGonagall said with a wry smile, "And work with the rest of the faculty to attempt to keep the student population safe. In the meantime, I will require students to move in groups, with a prefect, in order to minimize the chances of a random encounter."

"Or raise the number of casualties in such an encounter," Harry said quietly.

"A genuine risk," McGonagall said gravely, "But I am lacking in better options. The only wizard here who would have any real chance of defeating a Basilisk of such age is professor Dumbledore, and he cannot be everywhere at once. Until I can justify either bringing in Auror teams, or evacuating the school, this is really all I can do within the bounds of the rules."

Harry stiffened slightly at her words, something she did not fail to notice.

"However," McGonagall continued, "I am quite aware that you will not be content with such measures yourself, nor to be inactive while such a creature is almost certainly on the loose within the school. So, I will tell you this: The most important thing right now, is to discover where the Chamber of Secrets is. If we know where it is, we can either take control of it, or bar the creature's access to the school."

Harry nodded at her implied suggestion, not allowing himself to show the fierce exultation within, that confused as well as excited him.

"One other thing," McGonagall said, opening one of her desk drawers "Before we are done tonight, Harry. I realized, recently, that you are probably not aware that your parents left an inheritance for you. I have acquired the key to your trust vault from Gringotts from the Headmaster."

She extended a small key to Harry, who took it.

"The Potter family, while not known for their wealth," McGonagall said, "Were comfortably well off. I believe you will make responsible use of the wealth this makes available to you."

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall," Harry said.

"You're welcome, Mister Potter," McGonagall said, and nodded towards the door to indicate he was dismissed.

On his way back to the Gryffindor dormitories, Harry realized he had never had enough money before, to wonder what the appropriate thing to do with it was. Perhaps he could acquire the tools necessary to cut into the box he had acquired at the end of last year…

((()))

Harry fought the rising anger within him, fought it _hard_. It was a difficult fight, but he knew it was necessary; Hermione had done a great deal for him, and he could not afford to make a habit of losing control at those who angered him; anger was too easily a tool in his enemy's hands. Harry returned his attention to the letter from Hermione.

…_So I told her how she could find out for herself. I didn't even hint at what I know about what you've been covering in private study, and Professor McGonagall didn't ask. I'll understand if you feel betrayed by what I did tell her, and understand if you don't want to be pen pals with me anymore. I hope you'll still let me help you with your studies and other research, but I know you value your privacy a great deal, and if you don't feel safe letting me know what you're looking into anymore, I'll understand._

_-Sincerely, Hermione Granger._

Anger warred with the need for clear thought within him, and after nearly a minute of turbulent indecision, Harry chose to head to the edge of the forbidden forest, and practice his blasting curses. Forcibly.

((()))

Harry 'patrolled' the night. Functionally, this meant positioning himself in an abandoned classroom on the sixth floor of the castle, near the core staircase, so that he would have access to the stairwell, and from there most of the castle as quickly as possible. While his eyes were on the map, Harry practiced his wandless magic and blind awareness, summoning and banishing a set of fist-sized bean-bags from outside of his range of vision. He nearly gave himself away when he accidentally summoned a desk, which was _not_ quiet.

Harry decided to add learning to control the proportion of power he put into his spell to his training regimen.

((()))

_Hermione,_ Harry wrote, _Thank you for being honest with me about your conversation with McGonagall. I apologize for taking a week to respond, but I needed some time to put my thoughts in order. While I do feel betrayed by your disclosure of information to Professor McGonagall, I agree that it was the rational course of behavior, and considering how Professor McGonagall has used that information, I cannot fault your judgment in who to trust with it. Dumbledore was holding me captive. Professor McGonagall convinced him to release me, and further, to resign as headmaster of Hogwarts. As to allowing you to assist me, I am more than willing to do so, your skill as a researcher, and raw intellectual capacity, far surpasses my own._

_Thank you, for your past, present, and continuing assistance in my studies and research._

_-Sincerely, Harry Potter._

_P.S. The enclosed key contains access to a Gringotts vault that should have adequate funds to aid your research. I trust your judgement in using them appropriately, but please do not exhaust more than half of them without consulting me._

((()))

"I suppose you wish to know _why_ I informed your housemates of your personal history," McGonagall said evenly.

Harry took a small sip of tea, then placed his cup back on the table that lay between them.

"Yes," He said simply.

"The reasoning behind my decision is twofold," McGonagall said, "Firstly, I decided that it was in both your, and your housemates', best interest that they not fear you, and informing them of the reason behind your actions was the most effective way I was aware of to prevent them from fearing you. Secondly, it was both a combat situation, and an emotionally charged situation, and I am prone to making snap judgments in such situations, both as a matter of training, and natural inclination."

Harry nodded slowly, taking another sip before responding.

"Training," He said, "I assume, to remain in motion, to continue to act, in combat, as a matter of instinct?"

McGonagall nodded.

"I was but a child when Grindlewald was defeated," She said, "But I have some memory of those times, and when Voldemort made his bid for power, I made certain I was amongst those who stood against him. It is also because of this training that I recognize what you are doing to yourself, Mister Potter."

Harry responded to her words with an inquisitive expression, but no words of his own.

"Mister Potter," McGonagall paused for a moment, "Harry," She continued, "I see the way you move, I remember the knife you killed the troll with, and when thinking about your fight against Dumbledore, your wandless magic there was not accidental, it was deliberate, if crude. You are training yourself, training yourself, effectively, for war."

Harry said nothing, simply continuing to stare silently at McGonagall.

"Why?" McGonagall said eventually, "Is it because of how your parents died?"

Harry looked away, and a moment later, spoke.

"Something like that," He said quietly.

McGonagall sighed.

"I don't like remaining in the dark, Mister Potter," McGonagall said, "But if you do not wish to tell me, that is your right. I do hope you'll tell me at some point or another, though."

Harry nodded quietly, and they spoke of it no more that evening.

((()))

The second time Harry found Luna Lovegood was in early December, and he located her wandering the castle shortly after eleven at night on the marauder's map. It took him a few minutes to reach her from where he was 'patrolling,' and he chose to shadow and observe her from beneath his invisibility cloak. It fairly quickly became obvious to him, that she was idly moving from portrait to portrait, engaging those that were not sleeping in idle conversation. He thought it odd that she seemed to be wearing a full cloak indoors, until he realized that it was the _only_ thing she was wearing.

When she started inspecting abandoned classrooms, looking for a place to sleep, Harry came to the conclusion that the odds of her being the suspected Basilisk's secret master were functionally nonexistent. After taking a moment to make sure he wasn't missing something obvious, Harry took off his cloak and approached the girl.

"Hello," Harry said softly as he neared her.

"Hello," The girl said dreamily, turning to face Harry, "What can I do for you Mister Potter?"

Harry raised an eyebrow; while he habitually referred to other students formally, he was not accustomed to receiving such forms of address himself.

"I was wondering, Miss Lovegood," Harry said courteously, "Why you were out and about in the castle so late."

"Oh," Luna said absently, turning back to the empty classroom she had been inspecting, "They wouldn't let me in the tower, so I had to find somewhere else to sleep."

"Well," Harry said, and Luna flinched at the deep current of tranquil fury that suddenly ran through Harry's voice, "I shall have to ask you to lead me to Ravenclaw tower, so that I may have words with 'them.'"

Luna turned to face Harry, fully this time, and much more slowly, wide fearful eyes taking him in. Harry realized, when he met her eyes, and saw the fear in them, that he was literally trembling with rage, and forcefully banked it down. It did not diminish, or recede, it was simply pushed beneath the surface. The fear also receded from within Luna's eyes, though her body-posture indicated a wary hesitance.

"If you would lead, Miss Lovegood," Harry said, with a tensely level voice, "I am not particularly familiar with Ravenclaw Tower."

Five minutes later, they stood in front of the entrance to the Ravenclaw dormitory.

"I'm sorry dear," A portrait Harry was not familiar with said to Luna, "But I still need an answer to Paternoster's Pecunarium before I can let you in."

"Paternoster's Pecunarium?" Harry asked politely.

"A Riddle from 1201 AD," The Portrait said, "Rather infamous for its insolvability. Five men claimed to have solved it, but none of them were willing to share what the solution was."

"And why do you require this riddle of a first year?" Harry asked, Luna trembling slightly as the tightly leashed rage began to rise in Harry's voice again, barely veiled beneath his attempt to maintain his customary even tone of voice.

"One of the fifth years has charmed me to require it," The Portrait said uncomfortably.

"Their name."

There was nothing but harsh command and fury in Harry's voice now, and the Lovegood girl was shivering.

"I'm sorry," The Portrait said, "I literally cannot tell you that."

"I see," Harry said, then paused for a moment, eyes closed as he took a deep breath, before continuing, "In that case, I recommend you leave your portrait to visit someone else, because I am about to force entry into the tower."

The Portrait raised an eyebrow at Harry. Harry responded by drawing his wand.

((()))

Filius Flitwick awoke to a thunderous crash, and the sound of wood splintering. Not a sound he expected to, or wanted to, hear coming from within his house's dormitory, but spell misfires did happen. For a moment, he considered leaving whatever it was to the prefects, but guilty responsibility drove him out of his bed and into his bathrobe, then out the door to the Ravenclaw dormitories.

The first thing Flitwick noticed on his approach to the dormitory, was that the portrait that customarily guarded it was no longer in place; its frame shattered, the canvas itself missing. Flitwick's mood shifted from slightly frustrated, to deathly serious, and he leapt through the opened entryway, storming (as much as a man of his stature could), into the Ravenclaw dormitory, and immediately sizing up the situation. What he found, was _not_ what he had expected. The first thing he noticed, was a trembling blond first year, wearing nothing, _nothing_, but her cloak. The second thing he noticed, was that though both the sixth year, and one of the seventh year prefects, were present, they appeared to be shocked into immobility.

The third, and most important thing he noticed, was Harry Potter standing over the female fifth year Ravenclaw prefect, his right foot planted on her left shoulder, pinning the slender girl to the floor. Also, his wand was pressed against the center of her forehead.

"You lie," Harry said quietly, his low voice somehow drawing out just how quiet the rest of the room had become.

The girl sneered up at him, spitting in his face, which he completely ignored.

"You'll be in suspension for the rest of the year for this, Potter," She said, her voice positively dripping with disdain.

"Perhaps," Harry said with a terrible calm, "But you _will_ be expelled."

Filius Flitwick, who no man or women of any real intellect would mistake for being unintelligent, decided to hold his intervention until either something dangerous happened, or he understood more clearly what was happening.

"And how do you figure that, Potter?" The girl said, "Just because you accuse me of something, doesn't mean it's true, and you've just broken into the Ravenclaw dormitory and attacked a Prefect in front of witnesses."

"Because you are lying," Harry said, "You reveal it in your body language, your facial expression, and your tone of voice. There are truth serums, legilimency, and other means to prove your guilt as necessary, and once it has been proven that you, as a Prefect, have been stealing a first year's possessions, and locking her out of the dormitories in December with nothing but a cloak to wear, the Hogwarts Faculty will find that expulsion is the only appropriate punishment."

The girl rolled her eyes, and attempted to reach for her wand; Flitwick readied himself to disarm the prefect. Flitwick's intervention abruptly became unnecessary, when a rather large steel knife of obviously Muggle manufacture pinned the arm of the girl's robes to the common room floor. Flitwick blinked; he had not even seen Harry _move_ to plant the knife.

"Trying to attack a student?" Harry said mildly, "Not very good behavior on the part of a Prefect, Harry said, "Especially considering I've not threatened you with any physical harm myself."

The girl spat on his face again, and Harry laughed.

"Oh yes," Harry said, "All the witnesses will tell of how _maturely_ you handled being accused by a second year, _clearly_ the sort of behavior of someone who is too mature to mercilessly bully a first year."

Harry stopped laughing abruptly, grabbed the much larger girl by her collar with his free hand, and jerked her up until she was directly even with his face.

"Let me make something _perfectly_ clear," Harry said, voice full of cold intent, "I do _not _abide bullies. You're a pathetic creature, I don't even care what your name is, it isn't worth me knowing. You're a fifth year, and a Prefect, so clearly you have some potential, but instead of making something out of yourself, you've made yourself into _scum_. Apparently, you pick on first years, because as I've just

shown, _second_ years, are too much for you."

Harry shoved her back to the floor, and looked up to glare at the other students.

"I don't know how many of the rest of you were aware of this, and did nothing," He said, "But let me make something abundantly clear, this is your _only_ warning. If I find Miss Lovegood suffering from bullying again, or anybody _else_ for that matter, I will be back, and next time I will hold you _all_ responsible."

The girl beneath Harry went for her wand again, with her other arm, and Harry stunned her silently, without even looking at her. He glared harshly at the assembled Ravenclaws for a long moment, before reaching down and ripping the unconscious girl's cloak off, and taking it over to the still-trembling Lovegood girl.

"I'll be taking care of Miss Lovegood now," Harry said, wrapping the cloak around the trembling girl, "I'll leave the rest of you to your head of house."

He whispered something in the girl's ear, and she led him off towards the girl's dormitories.

"Ahem," Flitwick said, gathering the attention of his students, his tone and gaze painfully sharp "Mister Potter may not be interested in who else knew of this, but _I_ most certainly _am_, and while you can be certain I will be having words with him about his behavior tonight later, I will be having words with all of my Prefects, _now_."

((()))

Hermione smiled, a small, but deep thing, as she read her latest letter from Harry. It had started a couple of months ago, but was constant now; Harry referred to her as 'Hermione,' not 'Miss Granger.' As far as she knew, she was the _only_ person Harry addressed by first name, rather than last with title. It gave her hope that she was making progress with Harry. She had begun telling him about things other than just what she had been researching for him in her letters a month ago, and was slowly, carefully increasing the 'social' content of her letters. Her next step, would be to invite Harry to come visit over Christmas; she intended to ask him next week.

She was also eager to show him the fruits of her now well-funded research.

((()))

Harry searched the night. He spent every other night 'patrolling' with the map, and the alternate nights tracking down the singular names he found moving about the map, discovering a great number of cats that students kept as pets, and, to his surprise, Hogwarts staff of house-elves. By the end of his second week on patrol, he had identified every cat, and the occasional toad that had decided to wander, and received a list of all the house-elves' names from 'Tippy.' He was already familiar with many of the castle ghosts, but discovered that several, such as Moaning Myrtle, were tied to specific locations, and had spent some time tracking them down, and making a list of their names, in case he forgot.

He was paying for his use of the map by lending his cloak to the Weasley twins for the entirety of every weekend, but he considered it well worth the exchange, even if he did not like losing his stealth option for two days out of the week. For two weekends, the issue was irrelevant, as he spent them in detention with Flitwick for the excessive force he'd used in Ravenclaw tower, but as the 'detention' sessions essentially turned into private tutoring with the charms master, he figured he's come out ahead, in the end.

((()))

_Dear Harry,_ the letter read, _I was wondering if you'd be willing to come visit for Christmas hols…_

((()))

Harry began to notice a slight increase in how swiftly his control over his magic was developing, and spent an entire weekend experimenting with his magic to discern why. He determined that with his magical power growing, he no longer had to strain to effectively produce wandless magic. Much like overall physical dexterity, as his control overall was developing, it was less difficult for him to master the new pattern of magic for each spell without the crutch of his wand.

As an experiment, Harry decided to try learning an entirely new spell, and focus on it almost exclusively with his training. He selected 'Reducto' for his experiment.

((()))

Hermione felt a mixture of disappointment, and elation. Harry had turned down her offer to visit, saying that he intended to spend the time over break searching certain sections of the school that he normally could not because they were occupied during the term, but it sounded to Hermione like a polite excuse. On the other hand, he had addressed his letter to 'Dear Hermione.' She couldn't help but smile, thinking of that.

Maybe she wasn't getting him to open up very quickly, but at least progress was being made.

((()))

Near Christmas, Harry determined he had the Reducto curse adequately mastered. It had taken him a month, give or take a day or two, to be able to cast the spell wandlessly as quickly as he could with his wand. His 'patrols' still had not found anything, and he had to constantly remind himself that they were more than training time, and pay attention to the map. He had come across several false leads, that turned out to only be students pranking, sneaking away to the kitchen, or doing things he was sure he'd understand better when he had passed through puberty.

The only possible lead left he had was some kid hanging around the Gryffindor dorms he'd never met before, 'Peter Pettigrew.'

((()))

'Peter Pettigrew' was a rat. It did not take much of a leap of logic for Harry to recognize the rat as an Animagus. The only real question then, was why was an Animagus hiding out as a second-year Hogwarts student's pet?

((()))

"Peter Pettigrew, you say?" McGonagall said, her lips going tight in a way Harry had come to recognize as an indicator that she was _very_ displeased.

"Yes," Harry said, handing over the unconscious rat, "I stunned him while he was sleeping on Ron's bed. I assumed, as professor of Transfiguration, and an Animagus yourself, you would know how to determine if my suspicions are correct."

McGonagall nodded sharply, taking the rat from Harry, and then placing it on the floor of the abandoned classroom they were within.

"I approve of your spell selection," McGonagall said, examining the rat carefully, "_Stupefy_ is an excellent spell, though it is usually not taught until fifth year, it allows one a great deal of latitude in dealing with foes, rather than being forced to take more permanent solutions when they may not be genuinely necessary. Please, be ready to cast the spell again, as reverting an Animagus to human form is likely to wake them."

Harry nodded, and raised his wand. McGonagall made a series of sharp gestures with her own, and with a ripple of expanding flesh, there was a portly balding man where the rat had been a moment ago. A man with open, startled eyes, who was the swift beneficiary of a stunning spell. Harry calmly lowered his wand, while McGonagall, her grip on her wand having become white-knuckled, lowered hers, her hands trembling. Harry was surprised by this, having thought McGonagall far too solid a woman to be afraid or shocked by such a development, but when he looked to her face, he realized she wasn't trembling with fear or nerves.

She was trembling with rage.

"Well," She said crisply, her enunciation excessively precise, "This explains a great deal."

With a flick of her wand, she levitated the unconscious Pettigrew's body up into the air, and proceeded with a painfully proper gait, out of the classroom.

"Come with me, Harry," She said, "We have a great many wrongs to set right."

Harry followed, impressed despite himself, by the sheer aura of purpose that McGonagall projected. He had never seen anything like it before, never seen anyone with such _intensity_ that it made him think that just maybe, perhaps, they possessed more sheer force of will than he did. It both excited and scared him.

"Peter Pettigrew," McGonagall said, as they proceeded through the castle corridors, "Was supposedly killed by your godfather, Sirius Black. Two months ago, when I visited Miss Granger concerning your history with the Dursleys, she informed me that Sirius Black had never received a trial, or that if he had, it was not on record, yet was still sent to prison. I have since been contacting some of my former students who work for the Ministry, asking them to look into the affair, but had not yet discovered anything more than what Miss Granger had. _This_, however," She said, and for a moment, razor-edged fury raised in her voice, before she regained control, "Explains a great deal."

Then McGonagall turned a corner, turned to _stone_, and her glasses shattered. Harry's combat reflexes screamed, and he threw himself down and to the side of the corridor, whipping out his invisibility cloak and wrapping it around himself.

"_Mmmm…mmeeeeaaat…" _A hissing voice said, and Harry's eyes narrowed.

The voice sounded entirely too much like a snake, and Harry sized up the situation. It took him a fraction of a second for him to link the myths of muggles about a Basilisk's gaze petrifying people, McGonagall's glasses shattering, and her turning to stone, with the Basilisk's actual ability to kill people with its gaze. Creeping forward quietly, Harry peeked around the corner, carefully looking directly at the floor, and using only his peripheral vision to see what lay beyond.

He turned the corner just in time to see Pettigrew's unconscious body disappear into a massive snake's mouth, swallowed whole. The snake spent a few seconds swallowing the unconscious Animagus, which Harry took advantage of by preparing the most effective means of fighting a Basilisk, without being able to lay ambush, that he'd been able to devise. Without carrying around a conspicuous weight of high explosives, anyway.

The snake turned its attention to McGonagall, and sniffed at her curiously.

"_Ssstone thisss one,_" It said, _"But someone else, I still smell, who is it, I wonder?"_

Harry remained still and silent for a moment, thinking, before deciding to speak.

"Do you understand me, Basillisk?" He asked calmly, noticing to some surprise that his voice came out as a series of hissing and snapping sounds.

"_Yeeesss sspeaker,_" The snake said, _"I ssmell you and hear you. What do you want?"_

"I want to know why you are attacking," Harry said/

"_The Heir demandsss it,_" The snake said, _"And I am bound to obey."_

"And if you were not bound?" Harry asked.

"_I would hunt in the foressst,"_ The snake said, _"As I have for centuries._"

"How does one break the binding?" Harry asked.

"_I do not know,"_ The snake said, _"It iss in the sstatue, I do not underssstand Wizard magicsss."_

Harry nodded, though the snake could not see it.

"I will try to break this magic," Harry said, then withdrew quietly down the hall.

The snake sniffed about the hallway a few times, stared at McGonagall's petrified form for a moment, then turned and began to retreat. As it moved, Harry began to realize just how massive the creature was. 'Fifteen meters' was a big number in abstract, but in real life… It seemed to take the thing forever to turn around, more and more of its muscular coils sliding past him on their way back the way the snake had come. Eventually though, it completed its turn, and Harry took off in pursuit, following it down the castle corridors.

Into the second floor girl's bathroom. Harry groaned internally; he had not liked intruding into a female's bathroom the first time, to speak with Moaning Myrtle, it was not something he was going to enjoy the second time either.

"_Open…"_ The snake hissed, its deep voice barely audible from outside the bathroom.

The massive serpent rapidly slithered into the bathroom, and Harry silently followed, finding that one of the sinks had been moved aside, revealing a secret passage that was, thus far, not visible on the Marauders Map. Moving quickly, Harry reached the entrance, and found that it was essentially a pipe, and a rather filthy one at that. Thankful like never before for his cloak's inherent resistance to being soiled, Harry maneuvered rather awkwardly to ride his cloak down the tunnel, waiting until he no longer heard the Basilisk moving within it, before allowing himself to slide down.

Belatedly, he cast a silencing spell as he neared the bottom, narrowly avoiding giving his location away as he skidded across a silent, dark cave floor. Once he had come to a stop, he dropped his silence spell, and listened carefully. Hearing the massive snake recede further into the darkness, Harry paused for a moment to think. The snake clearly could navigate through the total darkness without difficulty, whether this was due to familiarity or thermal vision, he was uncertain, but he was all but certain it would detect any light _he_ attempted to use to follow it. Harry made a mental note to research a charm that allowed him to see in the dark.

Before he managed to divine an effective method of pursuing the snake through the dark, Harry heard the snake say _'open'_ again, which triggered a low, grinding rumble that caused the stone and bone floor Harry lay upon to tremble slightly. Harry held himself utterly still, save for his silent breath, listening as the snake's slithering continued, even after the rumbling sound ended, then started again. He waited five full minutes in the ensuing silence, before determining that risking light was necessary.

"_Lumos_," Harry said quietly, shielding his eyes from direct line of sight with the tip of his wand.

The spell's light was almost drowned in the enormity of the underground cavern, a massive space that was littered with the bones of rats and other small creatures. Harry carefully stood, his dilated eyes straining in the low light, and eventually was able to follow the Basilisk's trail through the barely-lit cavern. He arrived at a massive door, engraved with serpents, that stretched from the floor to the ceiling of the chamber's wall; Harry was not certain if it was designed to be intimidating, pander to someone's ego, or both. Either way, it was certainly imposing.

"Open," Harry commanded the doors, and was not terribly surprised when they failed to heed his command.

After a few moments of thought, Harry focused his attention on the engraved serpents, and spoke again.

"_Open_," He said, but this time his voice emerged in a series of hisses and clicks.

This time, the massive doors did as he bade, slowly opening inwards. Harry wasted no time in moving through the doorway, playing his magical light back and forth before him, and keeping his gaze low. This chamber was less of a cavern, and more of a stone hall, and unlike the cavern, there was no littering of bones across the floor. There was, however, another person making use of a light spell. Harry immediately extinguished his own spell, stepping aside to look at the other source of light, seeing….

Ginevra Weasley. _That_ he had not expected. Eyes narrowing as he quietly maneuvered himself out of the massive doorway, he studied the diminutive redhead, and almost immediately came to the conclusion she was possessed. She did not stand like an eleven year old girl, her harsh expression did not suit an eleven year old girl, and the book in her hand was so blatantly tainted magic that he could sense it as soon as he made the slightest effort to do so.

"Who is there?" The girl said, even her _voice_ sounding as though it was being used in ways that were unnatural, "Has another of Slytherin's Line found the Chamber?"

Harry silently approached the possessed girl, remaining beneath his cloak.

"While I applaud your caution in remaining concealed," The girl continued in her distorted tone, "There is no need to fear me, for I hold no animosity towards others of Slytherin's line."

Harry continued to approach, as the girl began to cast a series of silent charms. Harry took note of the wand motions, to study them later. Once he was within ten feet of the wary girl, he allowed the tip of his wand to protrude from beneath the cloak, and cast a silent stunner. Cast at point blank range, the girl had no chance to dodge, and took the full force of the stunner, dropping unconscious immediately. Harry quickly crossed the remaining distance between them, and kicked the book out of her hand. Her entire body spasmed for a moment, before going still again, and Harry warily eyed the book. Unsure of what else to do, and unwilling to touch the artifact, Harry settled for using transfiguration to first shape a hole into the floor of the chamber, then close it up again after levitating the book into it, leaving a simple mark over the location.

Then, Harry turned his attention to the massive statue of Salazar Slytherin that dominated the chamber. With the diary buried, it was not difficult to sense the magic rolling off of it; it was older and far more powerful, which made him uneasy, even if it was nowhere near as twisted as the diary had been. Steeling himself, Harry walked over, and laid his hand upon the statue.

Magic. All throughout the statue, anchored to it, worked into it, bound into the castle's wards, and extending to touch something else, that Harry strongly suspected was the Basilisk. Harry spent several minutes feeling his way through the magic in the statue, not at all surprised to discover that its magic was far more complex and powerful than anything he was even remotely capable of. Fortunately, he also felt no obligation to tackle it all at once, and instead, followed the strands to the castle's wards, and began testing them experimentally. As he suspected, they turned out to be the source of power sustaining the statue's enchantment. Focusing his power tightly, he tore them apart, one by one, until none remained.

It was more difficult than he expected, but he was attacking only a small part of the enchantment as a whole, with the entirety of his own power, and it simply could not hold up to the disparity in focus. Once he had cut off the enchantment's source of immediate power, he examined the single connection between the magic in the statue, and what he assumed was the Basilisk. It was a single connecting strand, and far more robust. Harry frowned, and decided it would be better to check on the Weasley girl before attempting something that might exhaust him.

Harry did not want to chance the Basilisk's return before he freed it, but was fairly certain that leaving a recently possessed girl untended for too long was a bad idea. Crossing the short distance to Ginny Weasley's unconscious body, Harry checked her pulse, breathing, and overall body temperature. She seemed unnaturally cool, but was also warming noticeably. He extended a probe and touched her magic with his, something he abruptly realized he had never done with a person before, when he made contact and found unexpected results.

The girl's magic responded to him actively, repulsing his probe with a strong flavor of fear. Considering the artifact that had been possessing her, Harry was not surprised. He could detect no residual taint from the book, however, so did not try to initiate contact again. Seeing that she was apparently in reasonably good shape, Harry levitated her to the edge of the chamber, out of the way in case he had to fight the Basilisk. Then he turned his attention back to the statue. He spent a few minutes trying to figure out the enchantments on it again, but was forced to conclude, again, that it was far beyond his abilities to sort out.

Forming up his magic and will, he attacked the tendril that he thought led to the Basilisk with everything he had. For a moment, it stretched, strained, then all at once it snapped. The statue trembled slightly, but there was no other immediately noticeable effect. Harry waited for nearly five minutes for other, more delayed effects to make themselves known, then levitated the still-unconscious body of Ginny Weasley again, carefully collected the cursed journal, and made his way back towards the surface.

((()))

When Harry finally reached the bathroom again, nearly an hour later, he was thoroughly drenched in filth, and feeling more than slightly irritable. He had resorted to transfiguring steps up the pipe, which was a taxing process, especially while maintaining his levitation of the Weasley girl. His primary irritation, however, came from the fact that the best plan he had been able to come up with thus far, was to go to Professor Flitwick with what he had found. His first choice, McGonagall, was currently not available, and he did not like the way his heart ached thinking about why.

It was well past one AM, when Harry arrived at Flitwick's door, the levitated Weasley still in tow. Harry briefly considered a few cleaning charms before he knocked, but decided that his disheveled appearance would lend urgency to his story. After mentally ordering himself and his agenda, Harry firmly knocked on the professor's door three times. Thirty seconds later, he did so again.

After nearly a minute's delay, the door opened and the tiny professor peered out at Harry.

"This looks to be quite the story, Mister Potter," Flitwick said, eyebrows rising, "Why don't you come in and tell me about it."

Harry did.

((()))

"O divine art of subtlety and secrecy! Through you we learn to be invisible, through you inaudible; and hence we can hold the enemy's fate in our hands."

-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 6, Section 9.

End Chapter 4

((()))

(Old) Author's Note:

It's a good thing I write some pretty climactic personal confrontations, because with Harry's utilitarian mentality, almost all the early 'fight' climaxes are turning out very anticlimactic.

This is the last chapter that includes pre-written material; only maybe the first page or two was written before the previous chapter was posted. Between computer death experienced in the last week, and loss of pre-written material, odds are decent the next chapter will be either considerably shorter, or perhaps posted in two weeks instead of one. I had thought to finish out second year with this chapter, but there was simply too much material to cover in less than 10k words, and I didn't get this far until Friday, so broke it off here.

Someone in a review asked about some of my remarks about isolationist behavior and etc. being particularly present in the USA, asking for quoted statistics or somesuch. My comments in these AN's are generally based entirely on personal observation and experience. I was born in the USA, but moved to the Middle East when I was four years old. My family spent a few years back in the states when I was in middle school, but I was back in the middle east for high school, and then came to the states for college, and have lived here ever since. In the middle east, I lived in Dubai, which is quite possibly the most multicultural city in the world, and had friends from every inhabited continent except for South America (there just weren't many South American's in Dubai, I think I may have met one in passing once). I suspect if I spent time in Europe, NZ, Australia, or the more culturally western parts of South Africa, I would find similar patterns of behavior, but I specifically mentioned the US, because it is where I have the most experience. I have seen at least parts of it in every culture I've run across, however.

I am no longer a student, but still live in the college town the school I went to is in, and have gotten to know at least a freshman or few from each successive class after me (five after me now), and have observed patterns of behavior, psychological development over time, etc. I also have a number of friends from around the world that I know over the internet, most of whom I met when I was in high school, and were a year or two younger than me. As some of you no doubt have also experienced, and most have probably met someone like, I am the sort of person that will just naturally, in the course of conversation, end up having people pour their life's story and/or issues out to sometimes. That, especially combined with knowing college students, both my contemporaries and senior students, as well as maintaining relationships with younger friends who were still finishing up high school, has taught me a great deal about the way the human psyche, or as it is sometimes less technically referred to, the human heart, works.

This story and the characters within it, are in large part an expression of what I see as one of the fundamental things tearing the society I live in, and other societies I've visited or have friends in, apart.


	6. Chapter 5

((()))

Chapter 5

((()))

"The end of term?" Harry asked incredulously, looking up and down the staff table, "We'll have Mandrake available at the _end of term_?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said, setting aside his fork and knife, "It is unfortunate that it should take so long, but Mandrake is an exceedingly rare potions ingredient, of which Hogwarts is, in fact, the only provider in Great Britain."

Harry glared furiously at the old man, something that made the other professors distinctly uncomfortable, as they recognized the extremely unusual display of emotion for what it was. Dumbledore, however, had only ever had personal interaction with Harry before when he was even more enraged than he currently was, and did not realize how unusual his behavior was.

"Professor Snape," Harry said, turning abruptly to face the man, "You are a Potions Master of well recognized skill. If I acquired the necessary ingredients, would you be willing to brew the appropriate draught to restore Professor McGonagall?"

Snape did not allow his surprise at being addressed directly by Harry to show. He spent a long moment carefully weighing his personal distaste for the Potter line, and not inconsiderable irritation at how McGonagall had stepped on him, _hard_, over the last six months, against both his personal debt to the Potter line, and the increasingly difficult to ignore voice within him that insisted that McGonagall was _right_ to come down on him as she had.

"Yes," Snape eventually said, "Mandrake is the only pertinent ingredient not readily available from the Hogwarts stores.

"In that case," Harry said, turning away from the staff table, and storming towards the exit of the great hall (as much as a twelve year old _can_ storm), "I will be spending the Christmas Holidays acquiring Mandrake."

Filius Flitwick smiled as he watched Harry leave the great Hall; it was the most amusing farewell feast he had taken part in for some years. A certain part of him found himself hoping he would get to see a twelve year old Harry chewing out the 'Great Albus Dumbledore' again. Conversation at the feast, from all four tables, had come to a halt during Harry's confrontation with the Headmaster, but it swiftly began to pick up again, and Flitwick was certain that the rumors of Harry's confrontation with one of his former-prefects that had been leaking through the castle for two weeks now would be confirmed in many minds.

((()))

Harry, levitated trunk in tow, appeared in the middle of his bedroom at Privet Drive with an ear-splitting _crack_, and staggered slightly.

"It's been too long since I've done that," He murmured under his breath, the shock of apparition having partially broken his enraged mood.

Shaking off the disorientation, he stowed his wand, and moved his hovering trunk over to a corner of his room, before pushing it down onto the floor. It would 'hover' on floor level until the spell wore off. Opening it, Harry retrieved and changed into casual clothing appropriate to places more reasonable than the magical world, then left his room to see if anyone else was present in the house. It was barely ten AM, so Harry was not surprised to find the house deserted; his Aunt, no doubt, was at work, and Dudley at school.

Writing a note to his aunt explaining his possible presence over the course of the break, Harry then returned to his room to plan his next course of action. Five minutes later, he realized there really wasn't much _to_ plan. Find Mandrake, purchase, then stay out of Hogwarts long enough to cool down before he did something _rash_ to the headmaster. Or tried. Harry was still very aware of how easily the Headmaster had defeated him at the beginning of the school year.

Averting that train of thought, as brooding could do nothing to change it at the current time, Harry went to look for the phone book, intent on finding Hermione Granger's address. Halfway to the phone, Harry realized that she would, of course, be in the Crowley phone listing, not the Surrey phone listing. With a grunt, Harry realized that he was going to have to take some time to navigate the phone system, and started by looking up the area code for Crowley.

((()))

"Filius," Dumbledore said, "You said it was particularly urgent I meet with you this morning?"

"Yes, Albus," Flitwick said, seating himself on a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk, and pulling a wrapped package carefully out of his pocket, "Last night, Mister Potter turned up at my door, with this, and an unconscious Miss Weasley."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but Flitwick raised his hand placatingly and continued.

"Miss Weasley is, of course, in the Infirmary," He said, "And Poppy assured me that aside from a considerable degree of magical over-exertion, she is fine. More importantly," Flitwick placed the package on Dumbledore's desk, and began unwrapping it, "Is this."

It was a mud-stained book, that Dumbledore did not recognize, but Flitwick deftly manipulated his wand, opening it without touching it, turned it around, and then indicated the name stenciled within.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle._

((()))

Eventually, Harry was able to track down the Granger's phone number, but the number was busy when he called, so instead he collected their address from the operator, wrapped himself in his invisibility cloak, then apparated directly to the address. He appeared at the mailbox of a house that had once been of modest size, but had been added on to at least twice, one of the additions added recently. After checking the name on the mailbox, _Granger_, Harry strode up the front walk, and knocked on the door, paused a beat, then rang the doorbell as well. A few moments later, the door was opened by one Hermione Granger, age thirteen, three inches taller than Harry, recent inductee into puberty, and possessor of a nigh-infinitely larger desire and capacity for physical affection than Harry.

"You came!" Hermione shouted, seizing Harry into what he was fairly certain she intended as a hug, but felt more like a death grip to him.

"Was it a Basilisk?" Hermione began, the first of an accelerating series of questions "Was anybody injured? Did you kill it with a rooster? Who was controlling it? Did you find the Chamber?"

Hermione paused for a moment, pulling back to face the slightly bewildered Harry, her face sporting a smile of truly epic proportions.

"It's so good to _see you_!" She half-shouted, dragging Harry back into what would perhaps, without his ingrained magical defenses, be a bone-crushing hug.

Hermione made a noise of deep contentment, her eyes closing as she simply savored being in the presence of her friend for the first time in a year, nearly to the day. Her moment of happy reunion, however, was interrupted when she realized that Harry was trembling in her grip. Concerned, she pulled back to look him over again. His entire body was shaking, and when she met his eyes, she saw fear. Fear was something she had _never_ seen or heard from him before, and her worry deepened.

When Harry saw the deep concern in Hermione's very open and emotionally demonstrative body language, facial expression and eyes, he began to hyperventilate, and the trembling intensified.

"Mum!" Hermione shouted, "Help!"

((()))

Luna Lovegood hummed happily as she made her way to the Burrow, carrying a basket of psychedelically colored mushrooms as she skipped through the countryside. She was off to visit her friend, perhaps her _only _friend, one Ginevra Weasley, who she recently discovered had something in common with her.

The first Weasley to notice her approach, she saw, was Ronald, who was de-gnoming their garden. He appeared rather glad of the distraction from his set task that Luna presented, and stared at her as she approached the front door of the Burrow. Once there, Luna knocked politely, and waited. After a few moments, a redhead of similar age and build to Luna herself opened the door, somewhat bored expression quickly morphing to surprise when she recognized the blonde in front of her.

"Luna?" She said, "What're you doing here?"

"Visiting, of course," Luna said brightly, "We've something in common from last semester, and I thought it would be delightful if we talked about it over mushrooms!"

Ginny, slightly bewildered and confused, made no move to stop Luna as she slipped past her into the Burrow, then began tugging her up towards her room.

"What is it we have in common from last semester?" Ginny asked as they began to move up the stairs.

"Why, we've both been saved by Harry Potter, of course!" Luna said.

((()))

Harry Potter's shaking had calmed slightly, to what could most accurately be described as trembling. To the assembled Granger's observing him, this was not particularly reassuring. Both of the Granger parents, while not physicians, had first aid and CPR training, and were able to determine that aside from elevated heart-rate and the now-passed episode of hyperventilation, Harry was _physically_ fine. They had placed him in their guest bedroom, and determined that if they did not see change in half an hour, they would call for medical professionals.

Almost exactly thirteen minutes after Hermione had first embraced Harry, he abruptly sat up in bed, took a deep, loud breath, then several more, before turning to face Hermione.

"McGonagall's been petrified," Harry said, breathing and voice strained, "I need Mandrake to cure her. I have to go now."

And then he disappeared with a sharp _crack_.

((()))

Harry reappeared in his bedroom at Privet drive, and immediately collapsed onto his bed. The trembling continued, but he was no longer paralyzed.

"What?" He asked no one in particular, gesturing meaninglessly with his hands.

Unable to remain still, Harry stood, and began pacing his room.

"What _is_ this?" He asked, staring around his room, his eyes not fixing on anything for more than a moment or two.

"What is _happening_ to me?" He asked, memories traveling back to when McGonagall had touched him, _held_ him, at the beginning of the semester.

He did not _understand_ these things that people were doing to him, he didn't understand _why_, he didn't understand why they made his chest churn uncomfortably, feeling like someone was stirring something in a bowl of chest-ache. He didn't understand it, it didn't make any _sense _to him, but it affected him so _strongly_.

If an enemy could do such a thing, he would be all but helpless before their attack. But there was no way an enemy would, or even _could_, have an effect on him, Harry knew it was something in the eyes, in the voice, in the expression, of Hermione, and earlier, to a lesser degree, Professor McGonagall, that had caused the reaction, not simply the touch itself. Harry's mind strained desperately to encompass that which it was so thoroughly unfamiliar with, to understand it, to rationalize it, to comprehend just what was going on.

The pressure and internal tension built, and built, and built within Harry, until eventually with a scream of pain and rage, he disappeared again.

((()))

Two hours after Harry had disappeared from Privet Drive, a pair of Aurors, the Ministry's accidental magic reversal squad, and two Obliviators Apparated to a point over the North Sea, riding on brooms. Every member of the group quickly surveyed the area, wands at the ready. For several tense moments, no one said anything.

"Nothing," The senior Auror eventually growled, throwing back the hood of his cloak to reveal a scarred face with mismatched eyes, "Absolutely nothing."

"Not surprising," The second Auror said, throwing back her hood to reveal eye-jabbingly pink hair, "Monitors stopped tripping more'n an hour ago."

"_Disgraceful_ response time," The first Auror said, "I'll be having words with Amelia about this."

"There's enough latent magical energy around here for a substantial duel," One of the reversal squad members said, peering through a monocle, "Two or three participants. Too indistinct to tell which spells exactly, but nothing dark."

"Is there enough to get their signatures?" The senior Auror asked gruffly, but the other man shook his head.

"No," He said, "It's all blurred together into the same signature now, they must have been fighting in tight. Wait," He paused for a moment, before continuing, "It looks like there's only one Apparition point in, and one out. This might have been a pair of friends dueling, or even joycasting out over the ocean for fun."

"_Anything_ obviously illegal?" The Auror asked.

"No," The other man said, "Unless there were Muggles around, nothing here was illegal, just highly unusual."

"Just as well," The Auror grunted, "After a shoddy response time like that, it's just as well. Back to the Ministry."

A staggered series of cracks marked the Wizards disappearing.

((()))

Harry stood in the shower, taking deep, measured breaths as he leaned against the edge of the stall. The hot spray of water was relaxing his sore muscles; he'd spent five minutes under cold spray earlier to cool them off already. Time steadily passed, and when Harry felt he had his breathing fully under control, he straightened up, and began making use of soap and washtowel. Once he finished washing himself, he left the shower, dried, dressed in fresh casual clothing, and left the bathroom.

To his surprise, his aunt was waiting for him in the hallway outside of the bathroom.

"Hello Harry," She said, voice calm, but somewhat tired.

"Hello, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied, his voice completely neutral.

Petunia sighed, and looked him up and down sadly before speaking again.

"I'm glad to see you're well, physically, at least," Petunia said tiredly, "Is there anything you'll need while you're here?"

Something uncomfortable stirred in Harry's chest, and he looked away, closing his eyes.

"She looked at me like that too," Harry said, tired and confused now that the anger was worked out of his system "Spoke like that too. Then she touched me. Hugged me. She, she confused me."

Harry looked at Petunia again, staring her full in the eyes.

"But you, you had nothing but contempt, scorn, anger and hatred for me. Why is that different now?"

Petunia sighed again, and looked away for a long moment, before speaking.

"Your teacher Professor McGonagall, she visited at the start of the semester, and I told her about your mother and I. I think it's time I told you to. Come down to the kitchen, and I'll make us some tea."

Harry considered for a long moment, but then nodded slowly, and followed Petunia Evans down to her kitchen.

((()))

Late that night, Harry lay alone on his bed, silently pondering. He thought of his encounter with Hermione that day, his encounters with McGonagall over the last semester, starting first with the meeting in which she hugged him at the start of term, followed by her securing his release and Dumbledore's retirement, and many meetings thereafter. Part of Harry rebelled against the conclusion his mind was coming to, but Harry forced himself to face it, as disturbing as it was.

"They care," He whispered quietly, "Why?"

It was a question that he would not find an answer to that night.

((()))

Harry slept poorly, and when he woke improbably early the next morning, he was long in rising from his bed. Harry had learned since he was very young to take what sleep he could, when his body was sufficiently undamaged to allow him such, and to never waste a free moment while awake. Now though, he suddenly seemed adrift, lacking in purpose. For some time, he simply lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. After that, he sat up, and stared at the wall of his room, then the old desk, his trunk, the window, anything that his eyes could reach without leaving his bed.

Eventually, a full half hour and some after he had first awoken, he stood, left his room, and walked down the stairs, before turning to stand before the cupboard under the stairs. He stood, simply staring at the cupboard door for several long minutes, before reaching down, and pulling it open. The cupboard was heavily shadowed, but Harry found a pull-string hanging from the ceiling of the cupboard, and pulled it, activating a small light bulb.

The Cupboard was nearly bare, all that lay within were a great profusion of old bloodstains, and a collection of pictures pinned to the wall opposite the door. The pictures at the top were of Harry, bruised and bleeding, from what Harry expected was the last beating he had ever received from his uncle, before the man had gone to prison. Beside them, was a picture of Dudley at age eight, morbidly fat, wearing a preponderously self-satisfied expression as he held up one of a multitude of presents from his birthday that year. Beneath them, was a spread of pictures taken from newspapers, both healthy, and _very_ unhealthy pictures of children from abuse cases that had made it into the paper.

There were dozens of the pictures.

At the bottom was a metal sheet, with an inscription that looked like it had been beaten and cut into the sheet by hand.

_All that is necessary for evil to triumph, is for a good woman to do nothing._

Beside the metal sheet, were three final pictures, a peacefully sleeping baby that, judging by the scar, had to be Harry, followed by a brightly smiling Vernon Dursley. On the opposite side of the picture of Vernon, was a picture of Harry laid out on a surgical table, bruised, bleeding, and with at least one arm either broken or dislocated, with a copy of the medical report on his condition. Beside the final picture, was a note-card with a single line on it.

_When a good woman does nothing, she is no longer a good woman._

Harry sat, staring at the collection for long minutes, only vaguely aware of light footsteps making their way down the stairs, and was still staring when his Aunt approached him from behind.

"It's to remind me," She said softly, "Of what I allowed to happen, encouraged to happen, and the cost of pride and vanity."

Harry remained silent, and Petunia stood behind him for a few minutes more, before continuing into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," She said quietly as she left him to his thoughts.

((()))

When Hermione found Harry, he was still sitting in the doorway of the cupboard, staring at the pictures, lost in thought. He heard her knock on the door, of course, heard his aunt open it, and usher her in, but he didn't pay any real attention to her presence as she came to sit alongside him, leaning over to peer past him into the cupboard.

It took a moment for Hermione to recognize what she was seeing within the cupboard, and when she did, she choked, her stomach heaving. The floor of the cabinet was stained so thoroughly with blood, it looked as though it is a part of the wood's natural coloration. The walls were less bloody, but perhaps more horrific in the pattern of splatters, and what Hermione could clearly tell were characters drawn in his own blood, with his fingertips. It took Hermione nearly a full minute to get her stomach under control.

Then she looked at the pictures on the wall, and fled to the kitchen sink. Several minutes of retching later, she returned, and sat herself down beside Harry again. Paler, trembling slightly, but definitely present.

"Hello Harry," She said quietly, "I've got the Mandrake."

Harry nodded slightly, but did not look away from the wall of pictures.

Hermione impulsively moved to hug him, but stopped when he flinched away. Hermione realized abruptly that it was the second overt sign of fear she'd seen from him.

"Oh Harry," She said softly, "I'm sorry, I should have asked…"

She broke off as he abruptly turned to face her, intense, hollow eyes pinning her own.

"I lived in this cupboard for seven years," Harry said, "It's where I taught myself to learn magic when I was a child. I learned teleporting, apparition the wizards call it, first, doing it accidentally is how I first knew I could do magic. Then I worked on developing an ability to protect myself with my magic, but it wasn't until my uncle tried to beat me to death with a golf club that it became what you saw when I fought the troll. I tried to learn how to enchant things, like in some of the fantasy books I read, but my magic would always fade from the blood-runes I would draw, I couldn't get it to stay."

He stopped just as abruptly, turning to face back towards the cupboard wall again. Hermione grit her teeth, face screwing up with grief, and the concentration it took to hold herself back from wrapping herself around him in the biggest hug she could. They sat there silently for several long minutes, before Harry spoke again, his voice so small Hermione could barely hear him.

"McGonagall was the first person ever to touch me, for a reason other than to strike me. You are the only person who has since. I don't understand why I so desperately want it again, when I fear-"

The rest of his words were cut off as Hermione engulfed him in a crushing hug.

She started, violently, when Harry let out a tearing scream, but instinctively clutched him closer, as the scream gradually trailed off, and then devolved into incoherent sobs.

Hermione was still holding him when he cried himself to sleep twenty-three minutes later.

((()))

When Harry woke, he was in his bed again, wrapped in the comforter, and as he moved he realized something else was wrapped around him as well. Specifically, the arms of a somewhat larger, bushy-haired girl, who appeared to have fallen asleep herself.

Harry had no idea whatsoever how to react to the situation he found himself in, so he didn't, instead just laying there, being held, and trying to comprehend the swelling sense of fullness that seemed to be working its way through his chest. It ached a little, but it was nothing like the pain he had subconsciously ignored his entire life, and he had no idea why it made him want to smile and cry both at the same time.

It was silent, but when Hermione Granger woke, still holding Harry Potter, he _was_ smiling and crying both at the same time. It took Hermione a few moments to come fully to consciousness, but when she did, she carefully maneuvered herself around so she could see Harry's face, and found a smile of her own at what she saw.

"Hullo Harry," She said softly, pulling herself upright, and Harry with her.

It had been quite surprising to her, when she first hugged him yesterday, then held him today, to realize that he was, in fact, quite a bit smaller than her. She knew it was in no small part due to girls developing earlier, and her being ten months older than him, but was also fairly certain that lost growth due to neglect was part of the issue. It also confused her; Harry was so intense, always focused, driven, in every contact she had with him, even if it was often masked subtly, but he was, in a very literal way, smaller than her.

She had never expected to hold the boy, or perhaps young man, who had saved her life so fearlessly, in her lap while he cried. Hermione was prodigiously intelligent, she knew that under different circumstances, it could very easily have been Minerva McGonagall who held Harry in this moment, and she would have been more comfortable, and felt it better for Harry if she had; McGonagall was vastly older and wiser than her, no matter how intelligent she was.

Speaking of which…

"Harry," Hermione said softly, "I've got the Mandrake, shall we go wake Professor McGonagall up?"

Harry nodded quietly, and Hermione abruptly found herself enveloped in what felt like a wall of pressure, squeezing her from every side, then being rained on. Looking up, then standing awkwardly as Harry pulled himself out of her lap and stood himself, she realized she was at the gates of Hogwarts.

"Harry," She said carefully, "Did you just apparate us?"

Harry nodded, and began walking through the gates, towards the school.

"That's…" Hermione was about to say _illegal_ but realized both that he probably didn't care, and that this wouldn't be a good time to be critical of him and get his guard up, "That's really advanced magic," She continued, following after Harry, "Especially bringing someone with you."

Harry did not respond, simply continuing to walk towards the castle. Hermione followed.

((()))

"That was quite quick, Mister Potter," Snape said, his voice and face for once devoid of antipathy.

Harry only nodded, and Hermione handed him the small packet of Mandrake.

"The potion will take three hours to brew," Snape said, and left, closing the door to his quarters behind him.

((()))

Minerva McGonagall opened her eyes, and instinctively reached for her glasses. It took her a moment to find them, as she was not in her own quarters, but instead within the Hospital wing. In front of her, stood Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, with Poppy Pomfrey standing watchful in the background. Granger was smiling a small, but intensely bright and hopeful smile, something McGonagall thought suited her quite nicely. Harry…

Harry was staring at her with a combination of pain, hope, and confusion. McGonagall studied him carefully for a long moment, before looking to Granger again, a question in her eyes. Granger glanced at Harry, and her smile grew a fraction, something beyond words passing between the two witches in that moment, and McGonagall found a smile growing on her own face.

"Hello Harry, Hermione," She said softly, "How did I end up here?"

"You were petrified by the Basilisk the other day," Hermione said, "But Harry sent me to buy Mandrake, and Professor Snape brewed the restorative draught, so you were only petrified for two days!"

McGonagall smiled gently at the girl, before redirecting her attention to Harry.

"Thank you, Harry," She said, "For seeing to my quick resuscitation."

Then she reached out, and hugged the boy. It took a long moment for him to respond, but when he slowly returned the hug, McGonagall felt her heart warm over, and her eyes began to get a little bit misty.

Then Hermione joined the hug, crushing Harry between the two of them with the full force of her youthful spirit, and straining McGonagall's ribcage slightly as well, squeezing gasping laughter out of the elderly Transfiguration Professor. For the first time since she had discovered just what Harry's childhood had been like, she felt the guilt within her chest ease a little, and her hope for his future rise.

((()))

Harry stared at the portly man in front of him, who even fully grown, was not much taller than him, even with his bowler hat.

"You don't believe me," Harry said carefully, calmly, and behind him, McGonagall, to the elderly witch's considerable surprise, found a shiver running down her spine at how much violence was buried beneath the surface of his voice.

"Not only do you not believe me," Harry continued, "You do not believe Professor McGonagall either."

"Pettigrew alive?" Fudge said, his voice in the classic tone of an adult condescending to a child, without trying to sound like it, "I understand it is upsetting discovering that your godfather betrayed you-" Harry twitched "-but all they could find of the man was a finger. No, he's most certainly dead."

"It is not uncommon for victims of traumatic experiences to have distorted memories immediately before and after the event," Lucius Malfoy said with _painful_ condescending courtesy, his respectful, sympathetic posture as immaculate as his well-groomed appearance, "I am certain Professor McGonagall simply suffers from confused memories."

Harry glared furiously at the older blond man, beginning to tremble with anger, but his voice was still tightly controlled.

"Tell me, Lucius," He said, "Did you know it was a Basilisk in the Chamber? Or did you pass the book to Miss Weasley without knowing what it would unleash?"

Lucius Malfoy became very still, a hint of anger beginning to roll across his features.

"I'm not surprised, really," Harry continued, "To find you here attempting to get the Headmaster removed. Tell me, was it so that you could attempt to replace him with someone who would attempt to keep me from humiliating your son every time he makes one of his feeble attempts to attack me?"

Malfoy's nostrils flared, and anger was the clearly dominant expression on his face now. He opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off.

"What's wrong, Lucius?" Harry said, "Are you unable to deal with the fact that your pathetic excuse for an heir has been shown utterly incompetent by a _half-blood_?"

The Malfoy patriarch's temper snapped, and he went for his wand, but Harry had been waiting for it, and was faster.

There was a slightly curved, foot and a half long blade in Harry's hand, and its point was resting against the hollow of Malfoy's throat.

"_Fear_ Malfoy," Harry said into the suddenly deathly quiet Headmaster's office, "I do not know what spell you intended to cast upon me, but your attempted assault makes this the second time you have crossed me. For this time, the payment I require for not defending myself to the full right I am entitled under the law, is for you to release the House-Elf, Dobby into my service. The next time, I will not _give_ you such an option.

Malfoy, face full of shock and disbelief, refusing to believe that he was being held hostage _by a twelve year old boy_, reached again for his wand, but Harry increased the blade's pressure against his throat fractionally, and base survival instincts caused him to freeze. In that moment, fear controlled him, and made a decision on a deeper level than his conscious mind was ready to process.

"Dobby!" He rasped hoarsely.

Less than five minutes later, Harry left Dumbledore's office, confused but ecstatic house-elf and worried Granger in tow, leaving the 'adults' to handle the catastrophe he left in his wake.

"Why did you do that, Harry?" Hermione asked softly.

"I wanted to hurt him," Harry said, voice full of tightly leashed anger, "But I've never killed anybody, and I'm not ready to start now."

"I'm glad," Hermione said after a moment, "I've never seen anyone die before, and I don't want to start now."

Harry nodded silently.

((()))

"Honestly!" Fudge sputtered at Dumbledore, "How can you let students behave so disrespectfully, so _dangerously!_"

"Tell me, Cornelius," Dumbledore said quietly, his body still in a rather telling way, "Did Harry's actions violate any laws?"

Lucius Malfoy noticed the Headmaster's body language, Cornelius Fudge did not. Minerva McGonagall knew Albus Dumbledore far too well _not_ to notice.

"Holding a man at swordpoint!" Fudge said incredulously, "That violates all kinds of laws! Why-"

He was cut off by Malfoy's hand on his shoulder, and turned to face the taller blond man, confusion writ in his eyes.

"Come, Cornelius," He said softly, "I do not think we can accomplish anything more here."

Fudge's confusion escalated, and in his bewilderment, he allowed Malfoy to usher him out through the Floo, back to the ministry. After the pair had left, a long, slow silence passed within the Headmaster's Office, while the tension in the room gradually released.

"Albus," Minverva said eventually, "I am rather surprised you didn't intervene when Harry drew that sword."

"He wasn't ready to kill," Dumbledore said, sadly shaking his head, "Harry is a very angry young man, with just cause, but unlike the creator of this," He gestured to the diary sitting on his desk, "He takes no pleasure in the pain of others, and has no taste for killing."

"You are certain of what it is?" McGonagall said cautious.

"Yes," Dumbledore said sadly, "It explains a great deal, and supports my theory about poor Quirrinus' death at the end of last year all too well."

Another long silence passed in the office, but McGonagall eventually broke it again.

"I should go see to Harry," She said, "This will be quite hard on him, especially after recent events."

Dumbledore nodded gravely before responding.

"Indeed," He said, "Please do look after him. It appears that I may have lost Cornelius to Lucius' machinations, but I must at least try to draw him out into a more reasonable frame of mind. I hope I can be as successful in covering for the effects of my neglect there, as you have been with Harry."

With a respectful nod as farewell, McGonagall left the Headmaster to his thoughts.

((()))

McGonagall eventually left the castle grounds in her search for Harry, Apparating first to the Granger's, then the Evans', where she found Harry and Hermione in his room. The door was open, but she still knocked before entering.

"Professor McGonagall," Harry, seated at his desk and facing away from her, said quietly, for once not the quiet of carefully hidden emotion or intent, but instead simply the quiet that came when there was no need for noise, "What do you intend to do about Fudge and Black?"

McGonagall held her peace for several long moments, thinking carefully before responding.

"I am not entirely sure," She said eventually, "But I will not sit idly by while an innocent man suffers in Azkaban. I do not know how to secure his release, but I _will_ see to it that it is done."

"Neither will I," Harry said, leaning against his desk tiredly, and turning slightly to face her, "I cannot abide bullies, or corrupt men of authority, and now Fudge is both."

"I won't either," Hermione said fiercely, "I'll throw every law and judicial precedent in existence at the Wizengamot if I have to!"

"Well then," McGonagall said, suddenly aware that she was conspiring with a pair of second-years to begin a chain of events that would probably depose the Minister of Magic, "We shall need to formulate a plan."

Harry responded by pulling a muggle book out of his desk, one McGonagall was unfamiliar with.

_The Art of War, by Sun Tzu._

((()))

"The reason?" Lucius Malfoy said simply, his face schooled carefully into a near-perfect semblance of guileless concern, "It is quite simple. Albus Dumbledore is retiring from his position as Headmaster, and beginning to interfere with Ministry Business, because he is coming to regret not accepting the position of Minister of Magic when Bagnold retires, and now means to take it."

Cornelius Fudge looked across his desk at Lucius Malfoy, radiating confusion and worry, and inwardly, Malfoy smiled as the seed of doubt was planted.

((()))

"Therefore, just as water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions."

-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 6, Section 32.

((()))

Old AN removed.


	7. Chapter 6

Revised AN: I have no bananas!

((()))

Chapter 6.

((()))

"Please, Harry?" Hermione said, unconsciously directing her very best puppy-dog eyes at him.

Harry flushed deeply, and a warm, tingling sensation unfolded in his chest, warring against defensive instincts and fear. The sensations caught him completely off guard, and the warring emotions were readily obvious on his face, something Hermione could see and read clearly. Past patterns of behavior and habit began to win out in the battle, which Hermione decided just would _not_ do, so she cheated.

Hermione stepped forward and hugged Harry again.

"Okay!" Harry blurted out, "But just for Christmas day!"

"Yay!" Hermione nearly squealed, and pulled Harry off of his feet, swinging him around in celebration.

Harry's mind nearly melted from the swarming mass of confusing emotions that were whirling through him. The physical disorientation of being spun around did not help, especially to one who was accustomed to being firmly balanced and centered both physically and emotionally. Unlike before, however, this time he did not go into shock, his mind did not shut down, and eventually, Hermione put him down, and just _smiled_ at him, which made Harry feel all _kinds_ of funny.

((()))

Harry knocked on the door to the Granger residence, his Aunt and Cousin flanking him. Harry was surprised Dudley had decided to come; the boy had hardly spoken to him in the four years since Vernon had been sent to prison, and had seemed to avoid every mention of the magical world that he possibly could. Dudley was no longer fat; instead he was almost frighteningly muscular a boy of only twelve years, his body trimmed down from two years of intense dieting, and then two years of aggressive physical training for track and field events. He was dressed in simple semi-formal apparel, much like Harry. Petunia was dressed in a somewhat old-fashioned, but quite nice, dress, that Harry was certain had all sorts of social indicators for what occasions it was and was not appropriate for, but he, of course, was unfamiliar with them.

The door opened, and Harry found himself facing what had to be Hermione's mother, though it was difficult to tell by appearance. She was rather short, not much taller than Hermione herself, who had just gone through a growth spurt, and was possessed of midnight-black hair, and a slightly dusky complexion, that made Harry suspect she had Italian or Spanish blood in her. Her eyes, however, were the same milk-chocolate brown as Hermione's, and both the warmth in her eyes, and her smile, Hermione had clearly inherited from her mother. She was dressed in a white and red dress that Harry recognized was made of silk, and therefore must be at least somewhat expensive.

"Hello Harry," She said, ushering the trio into her house, "Miss Evans, and…?"

She trailed off inquisitively

"Dudley," Petunia said, "My son."

"Strapping lad," The Granger woman said, smiling at Dudley, "Come along, the others are in the dining room."

Harry and the Evans followed, and they entered what Harry soon realized was one of the additions to the house, a _large_ dining room, around which were seated nearly three dozen people. Harry nearly stumbled as his mind froze for a second. When Hermione had invited him to spend Christmas with her family, she did not mention that it was her _extended_ family. Her father's extended family, from what he could see, judging by the prevalent bushy brown hair throughout the various people seated at the table.

"Hello Harry!" Hermione said brightly, standing and rushing over to great him with a hug and a smile. She was wearing a rather dressy blouse and skirt, both colored green with red.

Something in Harry that had tensed at seeing the unexpected crowd of people relaxed when Hermione held him, even if only briefly, and he wondered why being in an unexpectedly social setting had begun to affect him that way in the first place.

"Come on," Hermione said, "You'll be sitting next to me!"

Harry allowed Hermione to pull him over towards the far side of the table, where, to his surprise, he found himself and Hermione sitting amongst the handful of teenagers who were a part of the group.

"Harry," She said, "These are my cousins, Roger," She indicated a boy Harry guessed to be fifteen of stocky build and bushy hair; the boy nodded a greeting at Harry,

"Sarah," She indicated a rather elegantly dressed girl Harry placed anywhere from a mature fourteen to a young eighteen, dark of hair and eye, wearing a pleasant smile. Her hair was the same color as many of the other Grangers, but was coiled into something elaborate with a braid, so Harry was unsure if it shared Hermione's bushiness.

"And Persephone," She indicated one of the few blonds in the room, who was wearing a skirt-suit, and looking curiously at Harry with eyes almost as green as his own. Harry placed her at sixteen or seventeen years old.

"And everybody, this is Harry Potter, my friend from that school up North I attended for a semester," Hermione finished, smiling brilliantly at Harry.

"Hullo Harry," Sarah said warmly, "We were quite surprised when Hermione returned from that oh-so-secret school, I'm glad to see that she made at least one friend there, however."

"Yes," Roger said, "She hasn't exactly been forthcoming about just _what_ happened though. We were told not to ask her about it last Christmas, traumatic experience and all, but she hasn't been willing to tell us _this_ year either."

Harry turned to face Hermione, an extremely subtle expression of inquiry on his face; she, and all the other Granger's paying attention, noticed. Hermione was not sure what to say, her mind whirling through possibilities, but unable to arrive on something that would both maintain the Statute of Secrecy, and not be a lie. After a long moment, Harry turned back to the three teens, and addressed them directly.

"Incompetence on the part of the school staff had allowed Hermione to come into a life-threatening situation," Harry said calmly, "I disposed of the danger."

Several raised eyebrows and widened eyes met Harry's words, and the Granger teenagers studied him intently. For several long moments, none of them said anything, the murmur of the other conversations around the table washing over them. Before any of the teens chose to speak, the man who Harry took to be Hermione's father stood to formally begin the Christmas dinner.

"Greetings," David Granger said, smiling broadly as he swept his eyes across the table, "To Friends, to Family, and those who blur the line between the two. Yet another family meeting, in good company, and good cheer! To commemorate the Birth of our Glorious Savior, from whose example we learned just how a Family truly should work; to be willing to sacrifice of yourself, up to and including your life, for the sake of those you Love, for in Truth, that is what Love is. In celebration then, of another year since His Birth, and another year closer to His Triumphant Return!"

With that, he raised a toast, and the meal began. Harry was struck by how different David Granger's address was than those he had experienced with the Dursleys, especially in that what he said was more than a ritual, there was genuine passion behind his words. He was distracted, however, by large dishes of traditional Christmas food being passed around the table, and Roger continuing the thread of conversation that had been interrupted by David Granger's toast.

"What 'danger,' exactly, did you dispose of?" He asked, blatant curiosity in his voice.

"An enraged wild beast slipped into the school," Harry said, pausing a moment for a bite of mashed potatoes, "I stuck my knife through its eye and into its brain. It died, and Hermione was no longer in danger. We are forbidden to speak of it in more detail."

The teenagers went quiet, while Hermione slid down in her seat until she was almost at eye level with the table. Harry continued to eat calmly.

"I can see why Uncle David pulled her out of that school," Sarah said eventually, "Why did you stay?"

Harry was honestly surprised by the question, and not at all certain how to answer it. Fortunately, Hermione decided to move to his defense.

"If he can take care of something like that himself, why would he leave?" Hermione asked.

Sarah looked at Hermione, amusement and affection mixing in her face and voice as she spoke.

"Really, Hermione," She said, "You should know better than to try fallacy distractions against family. Just because he is _capable_ of dealing with a wild animal, doesn't mean he _should_. Besides, what would his parents say about such things?"

"My parents were murdered when I was fifteen months old," Harry said, neither his tone of voice nor the pace of depletion of his plate disrupted by his subject matter, "I would appreciate it if this line of conversation were dropped."

All three of the teens flushed in shame, some more than others, and quietly turned to their food, while Hermione compulsively reached over to give Harry a hug. Conversation between the group remained dead for several minutes, until Harry took some pity on them, and decided to provoke the conversation into re-engaging.

"I am curious," He said, "As to why Hermione apparently is regularly seated with those three or more years senior to her."

Sarah turned a grateful smile to him, before answering the question. Hermione, Harry noticed, appeared to be blushing.

"Well," Sarah said, "The Granger family as a whole tends towards rather high intelligence, averaging IQ's between one hundred and twenty and one hundred and thirty by the time we've completed our collegiate educations, with more deviating high than low, but Hermione here," She reached over to give the girl an affectionate pat on the shoulder, "Already scores higher than anyone except for Grand-dad, and is actually just finishing up her A-levels, so is at about he same level as Persephone educationally. She's also rather mature for her age in many ways, so she sits with us at family functions, as we get on better with each other than she did with the younger cousins."

Harry turned to look at Hermione, who was blushing madly, and raised an eyebrow.

"You were earning the best marks when we were at school together," He said, "But completing your A-levels? Wouldn't that put you five years ahead of the usual schedule, perhaps more considering that you missed a semester when you came to school up North?"

Hermione responded by burying her face in her hands, failing to hide her brilliant blush.

"It's a Granger family policy," Roger said, "Not to make a big deal about being more intelligent than most; there's more to life than just being brainy, and we shouldn't forget that. A lot of that translates to not bragging about yourself, but none of see anything wrong with bragging about how amazing our _family_ members are. Hermione already has Uncle George, at Oxford, trying to get her to enroll there for Spring Semester."

"I keep _telling_ him," Hermione said, sagging in her seat, her face still buried in her hands, "_Mum_ keeps telling him, _Dad_ keeps telling him, No more than part-time enrollment until I'm sixteen! But he won't _listen!_ 'Don't worry about the dormitories, she can live with me and Jessica,' 'Don't worry about the boys trying to flirt with her, I'll assign one of my graduate students to be a body guard,' Merlin, the man just won't _stop!_"

Harry found himself fighting the urge to laugh; Hermione's cousins had no such compulsions, Roger nearly squirting Cranberry juice out of his nose. Hermione just sank lower into her seat, until she almost disappeared under the table. Something strange was stirring in Harry during this, something tied directly into the good humor of the conversation, and desire to laugh, that he couldn't quite place, but it made him want to both smile and cry at the same time, and he wasn't quite sure why. Trying to figure out why continued to distract him through the rest of the meal, as the teens discussion switched to their latest academic studies, something which Harry was not up to date on.

((()))

An hour and a half later, Hermione took Harry up to visit her room, which Harry was unsurprised to discover had very little wall space not taken up by bookshelves, the best was neatly made, and the rather large desk, complete with a personal computer, was quite tidy. What did surprise him, was how nervous she seemed to be having him in her room. He turned his mind to trying to understand why, expression tightening slightly as he tried to figure out _why_ she would be nervous. It did not take him long to recognize that he lacked the experience and knowledge to divine the answer, so settled for the simple solution.

"Why are you nervous?" Harry asked her directly.

Hermione fidgeted a little with the hem of her blouse before answering.

"This is my room," She said nervously, "It's my most personal living space, and what you think of it reflects directly on me. You're a very important friend to me Harry, and it makes me nervous subjecting my room to your judgement."

Harry paused to think a moment before speaking.

"Your room seems to fit your personality," He said, "Neat, efficient, and full of knowledge. I do not understand why my opinion would matter so much to you though, I am exceedingly utilitarian, something I believe you are well aware of."

Hermione shrugged, and Harry noticed a distinct shift in her posture, as she began to curl in on herself subconsciously.

"Harry," She said, her tone painfully honest, "You've met some of my family now; I have a very _good_ family, but I've _never_ had any friends outside of my family. People my age have always either tried to use me, or teased my for my hair, my teeth, my being a bookworm. Older people I've been around, who were at the same academic level as me, were always either jealous, dismissive, or just uncomfortable around me because of my age. You're the _only_ friend outside of my family that I've ever had, and you became my friend by saving my life, and then not mocking me for my intelligence, my study habits, or my appearance. What you think is _very_ important to me."

Harry realized, for the first time in his life, that someone was _vulnerable_ to him, and cared what he thought about them. It made something inside of him ache, in a way he really did not know how to deal with, and it made him terribly uncomfortable. He could see in her eyes, in her face, in the way she stood, that she expected him to hurt her, even if only subconsciously, and someone expecting him to _hurt_ them, was not something he was familiar with either. The emotions threatened to overwhelm him, but he came to the abrupt conclusion that Hermione was this way because she had been _bullied_, and Harry, _hated_ bullies, and he was _not_ going to let his own confusion prevent him from helping her, so he pushed through the rush of uncomfortable, aching sensation in his chest, and _thought._ And then he _remembered_, and _acted._

Harry firmly stepped up to the taller girl, and just _slightly_ awkwardly, wrapped her in a fierce, tight hug.

"What _I _think," Harry said roughly, "Is that you're the only friend _I_ have ever had either."

Hermione hugged him back ferociously, almost causing Harry to lose his balance. Harry knew though, that when he heard her crying on his shoulder, it was a good thing, not a bad thing.

((()))

"Draco," Lucius said, and his son turned to face him attentively, "It has come to my attention that Potter is in need of… _punishment._"

Draco's smile was not a pretty thing.

((()))

McGonagall looked across the assembled Gryffindors, making sure to meet the eye of each and every one before speaking.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts," She said, smiling slightly, "You may have heard rumors during the return feast, I am here to set things straight before they get out of hand. Yes, I was petrified on the last day of term last semester, and yes, Mister Potter was involved in the situation. Young Harry both discovered who was setting a Basilisk on the school, and defeated this individual. Further, he acquired the ingredients necessary for the potion which revived me. He will be receiving an award for services to the school, and I will tell you now, the only reason he is not being made a Prefect, is that he is three years too young."

McGonagall paused for a moment to let that sink in, before continuing.

"I tell you these things so that you understand that when I say Mister Potter has earned my trust, you understand that I _mean_ it. Consider also, that last year, Mister Potter saved Miss Granger's life from a troll that had broken into the school. If Mister Potter brings me word that someone is causing trouble, or there is a fight, and Mister Potter is either present, or part of it, unless given overwhelming reason not to, _he_ will be the person I believe. I would hold him up as an example of how Gryffindors should behave, courageously, but not senselessly. You would do well to ponder upon that."

And with that, McGonagall turned and left the Gryffindor common room. The Gryffindors turned amongst themselves to look for Harry, but found that he had disappeared as well.

((()))

"Hullo Harry!" The blond Ravenclaw said brightly, walking up to him, and with absolutely no warning whatsoever, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

He was rather short for a second year boy, but she was _quite_ short for a first year girl, and ended up with her nose in the hollow of his throat. Harry twitched violently at the sudden contact, but Luna just giggled, before looking up to smile at him.

"Thank you for protecting me," She said, impossibly bright smile shining up at him from point blank range, "You're the first person to do that since mummy died."

And with that, she released him, turned and walked away, leaving Harry Potter completely confused and bewildered for the first time that he could remember.

((()))

"Harry!" Twin one said.

"Friend!" Twin two said.

"Ally!" Twin one said.

"Benefactor!" Twin two said.

"Busy man," Harry interjected.

"Yes," Twin one said, "Quite. So we were wondering if you, as our frequent ally and business partner, would be willing to tell us just what happened at the end of last semester?"

Harry looked at the pair long and hard, thinking for more than a minute before answering.

"If I tell you," Harry said, "Will you swear to keep the story a secret? This is not a schoolboy secret, this is a secret lives can, and have, been lost over."

"One minute," Twin two said, tugging his brother away for a swift, furious whispered discussion.

Two minutes later, they returned.

"Right," Twin two said, "Unless keeping it puts someone's life in danger, we swear to keep it a secret."

Harry considered their oath for a moment, before nodding, and turning down the corridor towards the stairs.

"Follow me then," He said, "And I'll tell you the story, in the Chamber of Secrets."

((()))

"Pardon me Mister Potter," Dumbledore said, "I would like to ask for a moment of your time."

Harry, who had been about to enter the library, stopped rather abruptly.

"Why?" Harry asked, his tone utterly neutral.

"For two reasons," Dumbledore said, "I wish to assure you that I will be doing everything in my power to secure your Godfather's release, and apologize for my lack of attention to your care in the past decade."

Harry's arms twitched when Dumbledore said 'apologize,' but he said nothing in response.

"Harry?" Dumbledore eventually said.

"Save your apologies," Harry bit out, anger coloring his words as he turned away from Dumbledore, "For when you've sacked Snape, expelled Draco Malfoy, Marcus Flint, and a half dozen other Slytherins I've heard first-hand accounts of attacking other students. _Attacking_, Headmaster," Harry spoke the title like it was a dirty word, "Not bullying. My aunt apologized to me, and she _meant_ it, her _entire life_ has changed. Yours _hasn't_."

Then Harry entered the library, leaving Dumbledore alone in the corridor.

((()))

"Harry?" Hermione said, cautious worry in her voice, "I know I've done it before, but it's always been in really intense situations, and you're generally very particular about your personal space, so I figured I should ask if I can have permission to hug you, just in general?"

Harry, sitting next to her while she helped him work through muggle school material appropriate to his age, closed his eyes and tensed at her words. Hermione's mother, ever perceptive, glanced across the private room in the Three Broomsticks they were occupying for a moment, but then turned back to her conversation with McGonagall. The two only saw each other every two weeks, when Hermione and Harry met at Hogsmeade, and the woman seemed determined to get to know Minerva McGonagall as well as she could. A long moment after Hermione's mother looked away, Harry relaxed slightly, then nodded, still not opening his eyes.

A small, sad smile crossed over Hermione's face, as she slowly reached over to him, and gently pulled him into a hug.

((()))

"H-h-hello Harry," A small voice said, and Harry turned from the book he was reading, to see Ginevra Weasley sitting one table over in the library, nervously fidgeting with the book in front of her.

"Hello, Miss Weasley," Harry said courteously.

The girl was bright scarlet, her face a deeper red than her hair. Harry was both amused and perplexed by her apparent embarrassment, unsure exactly _why_ she was displaying such.

"I wanted to say thank you," She suddenly burst out, then looked away, even more embarrassed at her sudden words.

"You're welcome," Harry said calmly, and found to his surprise, that he was smiling at her, "It's something anyone should have done for you."

Harry turned back to his reading, and Ginny, sensing an opportunity to escape her embarrassment, fled from the library. She didn't notice, but she was smiling as she did so.

((()))

Harry stared at Draco Malfoy, halfway torn between disbelief and wary caution. The boy was standing before him in an odd posture, one Harry vaguely recognized from one of the dueling texts he had read and largely discarded as worse than useless. Draco was well balanced enough in the posture, but it focused solely on the wand as an offensive option, something that Harry considered beyond merely crippling.

"What do you want, Mister Malfoy?" Harry asked calmly, subtly surveying the corridor they were standing in, but finding no one else present save Crabbe and Goyle in their customary positions behind Draco.

"To duel, Potter," Malfoy said, a sneer crossing his face as his voice displayed an eagerness to prove himself, and a confidence entirely inappropriate to the situation.

Harry sighed internally, and crossed his arms, covertly slipping his hands inside his robes.

"I don't duel, Mister Malfoy," Harry said, and could see Malfoy's posture shift as he prepared to attack anyways.

Harry, expecting the action, responded by summoning Crabbe and Goyle, causing both of the beefier boys to slam into Malfoy's back. Withdrawing his hands from his robes, with his wand plainly visible, Harry summoned the three boy's wands, making carefully sure to let them see him make the motions for the spell, even though he cast it silently.

"I don't duel, Mister Malfoy," Harry said again, "I _fight_. I held a sword to your father's throat at the end of last semester, no doubt why he put you up to this. Remember that Malfoy, I beat your _father_, and I didn't even use my _wand_. Don't even try to attack me again until you're better than him."

Harry then stunned the three, this time speaking the spell aloud, and left them piled in a mess in the hall, taking their wands with him.

((()))

"Malfoy attacked me again, Professor," Harry said, handing the wands over to McGonagall, where she sat at the staff table, "I subdued him without injury, here are he and his cohort's wands."

"Very good Mister Potter," McGonagall said, "You may inform Misters Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, that if they wish their wands returned, they should meet me at my office tonight for detention."

Harry nodded, and headed to the Gryffindor table for his own dinner.

((()))

"It doesn't look good, Harry," Hermione said, "Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has started pushing for a trial, but the Wizengamot is the highest court of Wizarding Britain, and too many people are either friends with Lucius Malfoy, susceptible to his bribes, or he has some form of blackmail material on them."

Harry turned to McGonagall, a question clear on his face.

"He still has a chance," McGonagall said, but her tone did not suggest a great deal of confidence, "Right now, Lucius is mostly being an obstructionist, but he wouldn't be delaying if he didn't have a long term strategy as well. I don't know if it'll succeed or fail, it could still go either way."

"What more can we do?" Harry asked tensely, looking between the two more well-informed witches.

"At this point," McGonagall said, "There is very little that we can do that would be helpful. Albus is both extremely influential, and well-informed as to the mechanisms of the Wizengamot, and Amelia Bones is nothing if not an efficient woman. There is little either of you can do in that arena, as driven and intelligent as you are for your ages, you are still children, and will have neither standing nor respect from the Wizengamot. I myself, could possibly bring some weight to bear, but I would have to abandon my duties at Hogwarts altogether in order to spend enough time to make a difference. Perhaps opportunities to intervene will arise, but as things stand now, there is little we can do."

Harry looked down and away, his jaw tense with his frustration.

"I'm not willing to wait forever while corrupt politicians and bureaucrats hold an innocent man," He said, his usual courteous tone strained.

"Neither am I, Harry," Hermione said quietly, looking at him with concern written on her face.

"Well," Harry said after a long silence, "Perhaps-"

McGonagall cut him off with a raised hand.

"Harry," She said, "I know how your rather decisive mind prefers action to inaction, and what you intend to speak of next, should not be spoken of in front of me. If Sirius Black were to suddenly disappear from Azkaban, I would be amongst those questioned, as legally, I am the one who requested Black's trial or release, and it is important that I be able to answer all questions honestly without raising suspicion."

Harry nodded, and a sharp, predatory smile curved across his face.

"I understand Professor," He said.

"Just don't do anything _too_ impetuous," McGonagall replied.

((()))

It made some degree of sense to Harry, after what had happened with Hermione the previous year, that the Weasley girl would start following him around, and to a lesser degree, the Lovegood girl. It did not explain to him, however, why they were simply _stalking_ him, rather than coming up to him and _speaking_ with him. They always sat one or two tables away from him in the library, then Luna had taken to sitting with Ginevra at the Gryffindor table, and they always sat one or two seats down from him, close enough to listen in should he engage in conversation with someone (which he rarely did), but far enough away to never be in an awkward position for not speaking with him themselves.

It was confusing to Harry, their behavior patterns, but they did not seem to hold any hostile intent towards him, so he decided to ask Hermione about it, and focused his mind on other tasks, like continuing to develop his magical control. He now had what he considered a basic repertoire of spells he could cast wandlessly, Summoning, Banishing, Shield, Stunner, Disarmer, _Finite_, and Blasting. They still drained him of nearly twice as much magical energy when he cast them wandlessly, and for some reason the _Finite Incantatem_ spell was particularly difficult to learn wandlessly. Perhaps because it was an area effect, rather than single-target spell.

His list of abilities to acquire had grown as well, only a single item had been added, but the number of skills that were necessary to become a competent escape artist, much less a master, was immense. Flexibility was necessary for dealing with normal physical bonds, lock-picking and the ability to secrete a lockpick on his person was necessary for dealing with both handcuffs and cell locks, and that was just the beginning. Magic could substitute for a large number of mundane skills, but equally, as Harry had recently learned, there were magical means for securing an individuals captivity. And more than one piece of fiction he had read had incorporated things such as magical inhibitors, or anti-magic fields, so he was not content to leave himself wholly dependent upon his magic if captured.

Thus Wards, Ward-breaking, Enchanting and Enchantment-breaking, had all been added to his list of abilities to acquire, which necessitated study into Runes and Arithmancy, subjects that would not be offered until the next year, though he hardly intended to let that hold him back. With his developing control over his magic, however, he felt confident that he would soon have more time available for other studies.

Although he did feel obliged to attend at least _one_ of Wood's practices each week, after how the Quidditch team had stood up for him while he was held captive.

((()))

Hermione raised a hand to cover her mouth, but Harry could still see the smile in her eyes. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Harry," She said, humor filling her voice, "They _fancy_ you."

Harry blinked.

"Aren't they a bit young for that?" He asked.

"No, Harry," Hermione said, "Girls usually start developing crushes earlier, and besides, you're a _hero_. You saved Ginevra's life, and Luna from a _much_ older bully, and you did both in quite dramatic ways. You're also always studiously polite, do quite well in school, and are rather famous."

Harry frowned, his thoughts turning inwards as he analyzed what he had seen from the girls with this new bit of information. Hermione was thankful for his introspection, as it meant he missed her own blush.

"They're eleven or twelve, and I'm only twelve," Harry eventually said, "And I'm hardly on a similar level of maturity to my contemporaries, you aside. They're entirely too young for me."

"Harry," Hermione said, "I saw their pictures in the _Prophet_ over Christmas Hols, they're both very pretty witches."

Harry flicked a hand dismissively.

"They may be pretty," Harry said, "But they aren't even my friends right now, as they hardly have the courage to speak with me. I don't see what their being pretty has to do with them having a fancy for me anyways. This is a silly subject. Has there been anything new about Sirius Black's case?"

"Yes," Hermione said, someone relieved that Harry had elected to change the subject before he noticed how flustered she was becoming, "Amelia Bones has told Fudge that unless Black gets a trial, she'll be forced to release him, as they're already eleven years past how long they can legally hold someone without a trial."

"Do you think it'll make a difference?" Harry asked.

"It'll have to, one way or the other," Hermione said, "People are _terrified_ of Sirius Black, apparently he was a very powerful Wizard, and according to popular rumor, he killed thirteen people before they could capture him. Fudge will have to do _something_, there's no way he can just let Black walk free like that."

"And our back-up plan, if that falls through?" Harry asked.

"Azkaban has too much ambient magic for electronics to work," Hermione said, "Not really surprising, considering the prison has had active wards for hundreds of years, but I think I can rig simple controls by 'coding' spells to respond to command with Arithmancy. I'm going to need your help with the spellwork though, I'm not powerful enough to make the spells last more than five or ten minutes, and we'll almost certainly need longer."

"What do you need me to do?" Harry asked, nodding.

((()))

A deep, rumbling roar rattled every window and door in the castle, and flipped Harry over to full combat alert. It took him less than a second to roughly locate the source of the disturbance, and Harry relaxed somewhat, but still left the classroom he had been practicing his spellwork in.

_I will have to speak to the twins about the definition of 'discrete testing' when I let them out of the chamber,_ he decided.

((()))

"They've sacked Amelia Bones," Hermione said quietly, a tinge of fear in her voice as she looked at Harry.

Harry said nothing in response, simply staring out over the Black Lake, and Hogwarts Castle above it.

"You're going then?" She asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Harry said, "Tonight, before semester ends."

"Be careful," Hermione said worriedly, and impulsively ran up to hug him.

He returned her embrace for a brief moment, before stepping out of it, and disappearing with a faint pop.

((()))

Azkaban was, on the whole, a very grim place. This was a result of both intention, and location; a wind-beaten rock in the North Sea had very little chance of _not_ being grim, especially when populated by Dementors. As a prison, it had a reputation for infallibility that ultimately, was primarily a result of the Dementors, over time draining away the prisoners' wills to the point where escapes were not even attempted anymore.

This, however, did not mean that the prison had been poorly designed for security; it was built in a triple-ring format, the outer ring housing the prison staff and guards, the middle ring hosting (relatively) low-security prisoners, and the inner ring hosting the maximum security prisoners. Each ring of the structure had only two exits, on opposing sides of the ring, one on the interior, one on the exterior. This, in effect, forced a prisoner escaping from the innermost ring to enter the center ring, cross to the opposite side, exit the ring, cross to the opposite side, enter the outer ring, cross to the opposite side, then exit the outer ring, and cross to the far side of the island in order to reach either the dock, or the only portion of the island not warded against Apparition and Portkeys. This design also made attempting to break _in_ to the prison incredibly difficult.

Azkaban's words were simple, but no less effective for their simplicity. Their strength came in the amount of magical power behind each ward, and the concealed locations of the wardstones. There were four wards in all; one ward that disabled magical flight over and around the island, one that blocked Portkeys, one that blocked Apparition, and one that rendered the structure of the prison nearly impervious to spell-damage. The wards were as ancient as the prison itself, and had over time gradually built in power as magic accumulated within them over the centuries. There were a number of smaller, independent wards, within the staff and guard's quarters, designed to ward out Dementors, but these were powered by personal magic, rather than drawing from the Leyline that Azkaban rested upon.

On the whole, Azkaban was the most secure prison in Magical Europe, with the possible exception of Nuremburg, but Azkaban hosted more than a single prisoner. Still, like any other human-operated facility, there was one potential breach of security that could note be completely removed; human error.

At 1:58 AM, June 5th, 1993, something that the designers of Azkaban prison had failed to account for, and the staff was unprepared for, came to Azkaban. Crafted more than a century before the Wright Brother's took their first flight, the wards did not protect against _non-_magical flight as a mode of entry or exit. Thus, when a hot air balloon charmed with an overpowered notice-me-not charm floated over the prison, lowering a mechanical device on a steel cable, the wards did nothing to impede its approach. The notice-me-not charm kept the Aurors from noticing the black balloon with the black basket in the overcast black night sky, and the mechanical probe descended on the prison undetected.

Landing silently on the roof, it swiftly scuttled across the stone surface until it arrived at one of the lightning rods atop the structure, and anchored its tow line there, to prevent the balloon that had carried it in from drifting. That task completed, the probe moved to the interior wall of the prison, and, using the crevices between the stones as gripping points, climbed down to the nearest window, whereat it extended an optical probe through the bars.

((()))

"That's a woman," Hermione said quietly to Harry over their satellite link.

"Affirmative," Harry replied quietly, taking a moment to apply another heating charm to the Hot Air Balloon's interior before returning his hands to the magically-operated probe's controls.

((()))

The probe moved on, quietly, but not silently, traversing the interior wall, progressing swiftly to the next window. That window contained a male, but not the one they were looking for. Then it moved to the next window. Then the next. It wasn't until the eighth window the probe investigated that a patrolling Auror team noticed the probe, and moved to investigate.

((()))

"I've got footsteps on the audio feed," Hermione said, "Bring the visual around to 305 degrees."

Harry complied, forgoing verbal response.

"That's an Auror team," Hermione said, "I'd recommend flashbang, then gas."

"That'll alert the rest of the compound," Harry said quietly.

"The third man on the team is Kingsley Shacklebolt," Hermione said quietly, "He has a reputation for being extremely competent, if we don't stop him, he'll stop you."

Harry nodded, and double-pressed a red and white button on his control apparatus.

((()))

A roughly cylindrical black shape dropped from the Probe as the Aurors approached, and they instinctively did what most do when a small, fast-moving object catches their attention; they looked directly at it.

The Flashbang detonated with an ear-shattering crack, and for a fraction of a second, it emitted a greater total amount of light than effectively reaches the surface of the Earth from the Sun during noon at the equator. Stunned, deafened, and blinded, the Aurors didn't even notice the gas canister that the probe hurled in their direction. Thirty seconds later, they were unconscious, and the probe, moving more quickly now that stealth was no longer a relevant concerned, had already reached the ninth window.

It was at the eleventh window that they identified their desired target.

"Sirius Black," A synthesized voice emerged from the probe, "Please move to the window for identity confirmation before we secure your escape.

The tall, gaunt, shaggy-haired man cautiously approached the window.

((()))

"That's him," Hermione said, "He's lost weight, no surprise, but that's definitely him."

"Initiating retrieval," Harry replied.

((()))

"Step and look away from cell bars to prevent injury and blindness," The synthesized voice said, and Sirius swiftly obeyed.

As two teams of Aurors, and a pair of Dementors, entered the central courtyard, the Probe deployed its second flashbang, and final canister of gas, before spreading a layer of Thermite paste on the joints between the cell's bars and walls.

"Close your eyes," The Probe said, and Sirius complied.

The Flashbang detonated, and the Probe ignited the Thermite. The Aurors were stunned, though one had banished the gas canister before it expelled its contents, preventing them from being rendered unconscious. The Dementors were unaffected, but could not differentiate effectively between the probe and other non-living objects. It would take more than half a minute for the Aurors to recover enough to be functionally aware of their surroundings again, and by that time, the Thermite had burned through the cell bars, and was eating into the stone beneath the window.

"Take hold of the proffered mechanical arm," The synthesized voice said, "Beware of the superheated surfaces."

Sirius Black nearly lunged out of his cell, scorching his ragged clothing, and earning a nasty burn along his right thigh as he grabbed hold of the probe's mechanical arm. Above the probe, an explosive bolt blew, detaching the hot air balloon from its anchor point, and the winch began to retract the probe rapidly. Sirius, weakened by years of hard time, nearly lost his grip as the probe began to ascend, but it wrapped its mechanical legs around him, putting painful pressure on his fresh burn wound, but ensuring he would not fall.

Two of the Aurors attempted to fire stunners at the ascending Black, while one with more presence of mind attempted to summon him. The summoning spell slowed Black's ascent for a moment, but the winch proved stronger than the spell, and the ascent continued, the stiff wind over the North Sea pushing the balloon above away from its position over the island. The Auror tried to summon Black again, but he had moved to far, and his spell had even less of an effect, and he had faded out of sight altogether in the night sky before any of them could think of something more effective to try.

((()))

Sitting at her computer in her parents house, Hermione sighed with relief, then turned to smile at her parents and Andromeda Tonks.

"We did it," She said smiling, "He's free."

"Well and good," Came a grizzled voice from her other side, and she turned, still smiling, to look at recently-retired Auror Moody.

"Amelia would be proud, if we could tell her," He said.

Hermione smiled all the wider.

((()))

"Sirius Black," Harry said, extending his hand to the man sitting on the opposite side of the basket from him, "I'm Harry Potter."

Black carefully put down the empty vial he had just drunk a healing potion from, and met Harry's grip firmly.

"Hello Harry," Black said carefully, "I must say I'm rather surprised to find my twelve-year-old godson staging a dramatic rescue from Azkaban on my behalf."

"I found out you were innocent," Harry said, "Dumbledore failed to get you a trial, and Amelia Bones got sacked by Fudge trying, so I took matters into my own hands."

"You pulled a break-out from Azkaban all by yourself?" Sirius said, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"No," Harry said, "I had a great deal of help from Hermione Granger, one of my contemporaries, and some assistance from others."

"How is he?" Hermione's voice came over the radio, "Is he lucid?"

"Surprisingly so," Harry said, activating his end of the radio, "Physical deprivation aside, he shows no signs of mental decay."

"That's Hermione then?" Sirius asked, nodding towards the radio.

"Yes," Harry said, nodding, "Now we're moving-"

And was abruptly cut off as Sirius pulled him into a massive bear hug.

((()))

"Aww," Andromeda said, watching her scruffy cousin hug his godson over the probe's video uplink, "So cute."

Hermione was more worried than endeared by the display of affection, Harry had finally begun to loosen up over the last semester, mostly because she visited Hogsmeade, and Hogwarts, with her parents every other weekend, but she wasn't sure if he was ready for spontaneous physical affection from a man he'd never met before.

To her surprise though, Harry, after freezing for a moment, tentatively lifted his arms and hugged his Godfather in return.

((()))

End Chapter 6

"So in war, the way is to avoid what is strong, and strike at what is weak."

-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 6, Section 30

Author's Note: You're not going to see much, if any of year three. Year four will be the final year that is covered by this fic; what comes after will, again, be the realm of the sequel.


	8. Chapter 7

Author's Note:

I've been discovering, oddly enough, that I have been more dissatisfied with other Fanfiction since actually following through on my effort to finish something. I've been writing my own original work for eleven years, and by the time I started writing Fanfiction in 2010, I had accumulated a great deal of experience and (I'd like to think) skill. I hadn't really realized how much of what my learning has enabled me to do, other writer's don't. It ends up motivating me to write more, because I can't find the suitable dramatic tension, and emotional satisfaction in other's writing, then doggone it, I'll make it myself.

Also reminds me of how dependent on the ability to go back and edit my work constantly I have become; there are some mistakes made in this fic, like Hermione telling McGonagall twice about Sirius' lack of trial, that never would have made it through if I'd been able to do that. It also didn't help that I dropped this project for about four months, before I picked it up again, continued work, and started publishing. Just a few thoughts for you lot out there.

Apologies in advance to anybody in the fields of study mentioned, I mean in my writing "understanding the basic concepts to some degree" with what I mention. I am well aware that these fields of study require prodigious time to even begin to master. I'm writing about getting the basics of at this time, not mastering.

((()))

Chapter 7

((()))

After all but a single duty-pair of Aurors guarding the first entrance of Azkaban had left the island, panic reigned in Azkaban, as staffers who had never expected to have to _do_ much of anything realized their jobs were threatened. Panic, as it so often does, led to sloppiness, and when the Warden ordered a personal check of each individual prisoner, both that they were present, and their physical condition, one of the guards got too close to the bars of one of the cells.

By the time his corpse was found, Bellatrix Lestrange, with a new wand, was three miles off the shore of the island.

((()))

"As I said," Harry repeated, staring across the table at the Auror, Scrimgeour, "While I believe that Sirius Black is innocent, and he came to see me before leaving Britain, I was not on the island when he escaped, nor did I cast a single spell, or use my sword, or even fist, against the Aurors or any other prison staff, during his escape."

"And you did not inform us of his escape or visit, why?" Scrimgeour demanded, and Harry was quite certain the large man was trying to intimidate him.

"Because you have no just cause to pursue him, hold him, or especially order him kissed on sight by Dementors," Harry said, "And as I am not legally an adult, I was under no legal obligation to behave as one. Once your Aurors arrived at my residence to bring me in for questioning, which is illegal to do to a minor without a warrant by the way, I complied in order to get this nonsense out of the way."

Scrimgeour was silent for some time, simply glaring at Harry in a blatant attempt at intimidation. Harry completely ignored it; he had met Amelia Bones, and she was more intimidating than her successor without even needing to try.

"Is there something else?" Harry asked, eventually, his tone as blandly courteous as ever, "Or can I go?"

Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed, and Harry immediately recognized that the man would not be willing to let Harry leave until he felt he had asserted his dominance; he had seen the exact same expression on his Uncle's face more times than he cared to remember. Harry knew that it would be easier to pretend to be cowed before the man, to let him show dominance, and pretend submission. He knew that as the new head of the DMLE he had a great deal of ability to make things difficult for Harry, especially with how corrupt the ministry was.

But Harry found he was simply unwilling to allow the man even the illusion that he was in the right, or in control.

"Look boy," Scrimgeour growled, "If you know what's good for you-"

"What?" Harry said, his voice sharp, "You'll slap me with charges? I've answered all your questions truthfully, and am more than willing to submit my testimony under truth serum, but if you do, you'll find my solicitor on hand with _another_ series of questions that you don't want answered. You've got nothing on me, and you won't _have_ anything on me either. Since I found out that my Godfather was illegally imprisoned, I've _studied_ what passes for the law in this land, and-"

"Now see here!" Scrimgeour bellowed over Harry, lurching upright and reaching for his wand, "I will not be talked to-"

He was cut off by the table that had sat between them slamming into his gut, doubling him over under the force of the blow, and completely unprepared for the disarming hex that struck him, depriving him of his wand. Harry swiftly moved back out of his chair, his own wand in one hand, Scrimgeour's in the other, using Scrimgeour's to open the door behind him.

"The _Daily Prophet_ will be hearing about how the head of the DMLE attacked a twelve-year old child," Harry said as he left the room, "It'll probably be front page tomorrow. I hope you enjoyed your time in office, Scrimgeour, it is going to be brief."

Harry stepped out of the room, his wand still trained on Scrimgeour as the man held his gut, gasping for breath. Once he was out of the room, Harry shut the door, then after glancing up and down the corridor and finding no one else present, silently sealed the door shut with Scrimgeour's wand, timing it to open in six hours if no one took the spell down earlier. Then he set off to look for Auror Tonks.

He found her, and most the rest of the Auror force, on lunch break in one of the cafeterias in the Ministry of Magic, eating with Hestia Jones and Emmaline Vance in a corner of the cafeteria. He approached them quietly, doing his best not to draw attention.

"Auror's Tonks, Jones, Vance," Harry said, too quietly for anyone else in the cafeteria to hear, "I'm afraid I have to report that I have been attacked by Rufus Scrimgeour."

The three stared at him in disbelief for a moment, until Harry placed Scrimgeour's wand on the table.

"Blimey Harry," Tonks said, "He really did, didn't he?"

"Yes," Harry said, "I sealed him in the room he was interrogating me in."

"Right," Emmaline Vance said, standing as she spoke, also keeping her voice low enough to avoid drawing attention from the others, "We should go somewhere else, we're going to have to record your account of what happened, Mister Potter."

Harry nodded, and after the other two women stood, followed the Aurors out of the room.

((()))

Harry sat alone in his room at Privet Drive. His encounter with Scrimgeour had confirmed everything he had thought of the Ministry, and then some. They were corrupt not just to the core, but almost completely comprehensively on ever level above entry-level positions. The clerks and Aurors he'd seen were straightforward enough, if not particularly driven in their work, and Tonks and her compatriots were blatantly honest, but he could tell by the way they moved around the other Aurors, that some were certainly more trustworthy than others.

And they were all incompetent to wage a war, something Harry was not even remotely upset about. They had no combat mentality; they thought only of, and about, _magic_, when it came to fighting, and consequently focused almost exclusively on 'wands' and the dueling philosophies that stemmed from formalized wand-duels. Like all forms of combat that had been ritualized into mere sports, it was something Harry was certain Sun Tzu would have approved of him seeding amongst his enemies. That they had propagated such 'knowledge' _themselves_…

In a way, Harry was glad that despite his _very_ unpleasant childhood, he still had found himself unwilling to kill the first time he had been in a position to readily do so; with the means he had available, Harry had very little doubt he could slay most, if not all, of Wizarding Britain if he desired to do so. And considering how corrupt most of the government was, he could see justification for killing a _lot_ of people. He had also learned just how _angry_ he was with the wizarding government in general, and Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge in particular.

At first, he had expected Fudge to be taking bribes from Malfoy, but the man didn't even have the excuse of being corrupt, he was just _that_ incompetent. The fact that not only had he become Minister, but that he still _held_ the title, and had successfully sacked Amelia Bones for threatening to _follow the law_, told him all he needed to know about how insanely corrupt those who put him in power in the first place were.

Normally, Harry would be appalled at the sheer incompetence of the Ministry of Magic, but considering how corrupt they were, he figured it was just as well. He began to seriously consider planning his life around leaving England after he had taken his OWLs, rather than waiting for his NEWTs.

((()))

"This is terrible!" Fudge breathed, half-panicked, "Sirius Black, on the loose! _Bellatrix Lestrange!_ What will we _do_ Lucius?"

Lucius Malfoy found that his desire to sneer at the gibbering man in front of him was entirely overruled by his deep satisfaction that the man's first instinct was to look to him for guidance. Malfoy had not arranged for Cornelius Fudge to become the Minister of Magic; but he did not think he could have found a better puppet if he had _tried_.

"Well, Cornelius," Malfoy said in a calm, reassuring tone, "Clearly we need to raise more concerns about public security, especially after how Scrimgeour disgraced himself. I've a few names in mind for who may make a suitable new head for the DMLE, and then perhaps we should expand the Auror and Hitwizard corps…"

((()))

"Hello, Uncle George," Hermione said, smiling at the graying man in the lab coat.

"Good morning, m'dear," The older Granger said, before gesturing grandly to the laboratory behind him, "And welcome to the realm, of_ Science!"_

Hermione placed a hand over her mouth to hide her smile.

"Now," George Granger said, stepping towards an electron microscope, "It is time for you to enter the dynamic world of _Particle Physics!"_

((()))

Minerva McGonagall stepped into what would very soon stop being Albus Dumbledore's office, and begin being hers.

"Hello Minerva," Dumbledore said with a smile, as he directed his array of silver instruments into a trunk with his wand, "It's good to see you."

"And you Albus," McGonagall said, "While I do believe it appropriate your time as Headmaster end, you have given this school many excellent years of service."

Dumbledore smiled at her again for a few moments, before his expression became much more serious.

"Before I leave, Minerva," He said, "Have a seat. There are a few things I believe I should tell you, since I will no longer be in a position to watch over Harry myself."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, but seated herself, and waited.

"The first," Dumbledore said, "Involves a Prophecy made thirteen years ago…"

((()))

"And now," George Granger said, looking at Hermione somewhat oddly, "Since you have successfully mastered the basic concepts of Particle Physics in, er, _three days_…" He trailed off for a moment to stare at her before continuing abruptly, and _loudly_, "Now on to the _engaging_ field of _Materials Engineering!_"

((()))

McGonagall simply stared at Dumbledore.

"The power of _love?_" She asked incredulously, "After you sent him to the _Dursleys_? Albus, I know things were very different in the century of your birth, but you have _clearly_ lost your understanding of the minds and hearts of children."

"I would object," Dumbledore said gravely, "But I no longer trust my perspective on such things; hence my retirement. There is more, however."

He pulled out a diary that had been neatly sliced in two, and opened it to display the name of the owner; Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"It is time," Dumbledore said, "That I tell you what I have been able to gather of the story of the young man who came to call himself Voldemort."

((()))

Dobby stared at Harry.

Harry stared at Dobby.

Harry shifted slightly on his bed, and stared at Dobby.

Dobby shifted his weight from his left foot to his right foot, the boards underneath him creaking slightly, and stared at Harry.

((()))

"You do realize, Albus," McGonagall said, "Just how much Harry's story has come to resemble Riddle's, and this time it was due to your action, rather than inaction?"

Dumbledore nodded sadly.

"In my time," Dumbledore said sadly, "Though discipline could be harsh, outright abuse such as Harry received was utterly unthinkable in any kind of respectable family. It simply did not occur to me that a family that produced Lily Evans, could produce a woman capable of such petty viciousness as Petunia Dursley."

McGonagall sighed, and rubbed her temples to fight the frustration-originated headache that had begun to plague her.

"Petunia _Evans_ is shaping into a fine woman," McGonagall said, "Petunia _Dursley_ was a malignant shrew. That aside, what do you intend to do about this Horcrux in Harry's scar?"

"That," Dumbledore said, "Is one problem I have not yet been able to calculate a solution to. Nothing I have been able to think of to destroy it, would not also result in Harry's death. Perhaps you will bring a fresh perspective to the problem, and be able to find a solution for Harry's sake yourself."

"Perhaps," McGonagall said, "We shall see. Why, if I may ask, have you informed Harry of neither the Prophecy, nor the Horcrux in his scar before?"

"I would hate to burden young Harry with such terrible truths before his majority," Dumbledore said, "Unless Voldemort somehow becomes possessed of a new body, or otherwise becomes a threat, my intention is to tell him when he reached adulthood."

McGonagall sighed again, and closed her eyes.

"Albus," She said, "If you could leave your Pensieve here for a time, I would appreciate the use of it to aid in sorting and dealing with new thoughts."

"But of course Minerva," He said, and she could hear his cheery smile, "There's one other thing I need to tell you about, a much happier matter. I've been negotiating for several years now, and if you're willing to continue, it should be all but a done deal, to revive an old event called the Tri-Wizard Tournament…"

((()))

Harry stared at Dobby, slowly leaning to his left, changing the angle of his perspective on the eccentric house-elf.

Dobby stared at Harry, tilting his head to the side at an angle mirroring Harry's leaning form.

((()))

"Mum," Dudley said, and a tired Petunia Evans raised her eyes to look across the kitchen table at him. Dudley's face was unusually grave.

"Yes, Dudley dear?" She asked.

"Why did dad _do_ all those things?"

Petunia sighed, closed her eyes, and rubbed her face with her hands.

"In the end," Petunia said sadly, "Vernon felt he was entitled to certain things, and that if he was not given such things, it was either his right to take them, or to punish those around him for failing to provide them. If you think about it, before he went to prison he, and to a lesser degree I, was raising you to think the same way."

Dudley nodded, brow furrowed in concentration, and it was some time before he spoke again.

"You already told me why you did what you did back then," He said, "But why do you do what you do _now_?"

"Well," Petunia said, with a small, strained smile, "Two reasons. The first one that motivated me, was fear of my sister, Harry's mother. What drives me now, though, is something Lily and I's parents taught us a long time ago: 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.'"

"The Golden Rule," Dudley said, nodding.

"Yes," Petunia said, "I just wish I hadn't forgotten it for ten years."

Dudley nodded, then wandered back to his room to think over what his mother had told him.

((()))

Dobby looked away.

"You," Harry said, rubbing his sore eyes, "Are a very strong-willed being. Why do you wish to serve me, rather than be independent?"

"House elves is needing a family to look after," Dobby said, "Our healths is tied into the healths of the family, and Harry Potter's family was being a very good family before they died. Harry Potter is building a strong family now."

Harry thought on this for some time before speaking.

"Very well, Dobby," He said, "I will accept you into my service, but you must tell me if you wish to be released from it."

"Thank you Great Harry Potter Sir!" Dobby said, jumping up and down excitedly, "What will be being Dobby's first task?"

Harry thought for a few moments, before standing and walking over to his desk.

"I don't suppose you can purchase things from the non-magical world?" He asked.

"Of courses!" Dobby said, "All Wizard families is buying their food from muggles!"

Harry nodded, acquiring appropriate implements, then writing out a list of items.

"I need you to find me the cheapest cost you can for these products, of reliable functional quality," Harry said, handing the list to Dobby.

"At once!" Dobby said, taking the list and disappearing with a sharp crack.

Harry nodded, and turned his attention to the metal box that he had acquired during first year. Hopefully, he would have it open soon. Turning his attention to more immediate things, Harry sat down at his desk, and began composing a response to Hermione's latest letter, inquiring about a visit.

((()))

"And _now!_" George Granger said, staring intently at Hermione as he spoke, "That you have covered the basics of Materials Engineering in _three weeks_," He took a deep breath, before continuing in a near-shout, "We will move into _Nuclear Physics!_"

Spinning around, he started walking across the lab towards a work area Hermione had not been allowed to touch before.

"FOR SCIENCE!" He shouted, and Hermione could barely keep herself from dissolving into giggles.

((()))

"You asked to see me, Prof," Harry cut himself off as he entered her new office, before restarting his form of address, "Headmistress McGonagall?"

"Yes, Harry," McGonagall said, looking over at him from where she had been arranging a number of books on the shelf that had formerly hosted Dumbledore's silver instruments, "Albus decided to disclose a number of things to me before departing the school, which I believe you have a right to know. Are you familiar with how a Penesieve functions?"

"No," Harry replied, "I have seen mention of them in a few books, but nothing in detail."

"Well," McGonagall said, moving across the office to her new, large, desk, "They are used to store and review memories."

McGonagall extracted a sizeable stone bowl from one of the desk's drawers, and carefully placed it on top of the desk.

"One can fill it either with the original, or a copy of a memory, depending on if they desire to keep the memory in their head at the same time," McGonagall said, withdrawing her wand and placing the tip to her temple, "Like so."

She pulled a long silvery strand of memory from her temple, and deposited it within the stone bowl.

"There is, of course, a good deal more than simple wand motion involved; it requires some skill in Occlumency to properly sort and prepare the memory to be withdrawn, and something of a knack for getting the memory to adhere to your wand. The method of memory extraction aside, however, this is the memory I wish to show you. You activate the Pensieve by sticking your head into it."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the activation method, but after a moment's hesitation, stuck his head into the Pensieve.

((()))

"In summary, Mister Black," The American official said, "We are more than willing to grant you Amnesty and a legitimate trial, you must, however, abdicate your title as Lord Black."

Sirius blinked, staring across the conference room at the official, clerk, and guard that occupied the room with him.

"I'm Lord Black?" He said, clearly surprised, "I suppose that means my bitch of a mother is dead?"

The American official raised an eye at his words, but nodded.

"Of course I'll abdicate," Sirius said, "Never wanted the ruddy thing anyways. I'll just need to make sure the right person ends up with the title, I've got some unpleasant relatives that might stand to inherit."

All three of the Americans sitting across from him smiled.

((()))

Harry withdrew his head from the Pensieve and sat back in his chair, posture precise, jaw slightly tense, eyes closed, breathing even and exceedingly regular. McGonagall could immediately tell that he was furious. Several long minutes of silence passed while McGonagall simply watched Harry Potter struggle with his rage. Eventually, he spoke.

"I assume," He said quietly, absolutely none of the anger that trembled through his body leaking into his voice, "That you would object to me killing Snape."

"Yes," McGonagall said, "You are not quite thirteen, but it would still be unwise to give Fudge and Malfoy the opportunity to bring murder charges against you."

"You are not going to protest for his sake?" Harry asked, a tinge of surprise creeping into his voice and body language."

"The man was a death eater," McGonagall said, "I know the sorts of things men were required to do to prove themselves 'worthy' of the mark. His execrable behavior as an 'educator' shows that if he is 'reformed' at all, it is not by very much. Personally, I think Albus pushing him into a profession he detested in a location filled with ugly memories did nothing to help the situation."

Harry was silent, still warring with his anger internally.

"I assume," Harry eventually said, "Knowing what you now do, that you will be terminating his employment at Hogwarts?"

"I was planning on ending his employment before I learned of his complicity in your parent's death," McGonagall said, "It will, in fact be my first official act as Headmistress."

Harry nodded sharply, standing and moving to the door.

"Thank you for informing me of these things, Headmistress McGonagall," He said, "I need time to process these things now though."

"I wish you well in your ruminations," McGonagall said, nodding to Harry as he left, then returning the memory to her head.

((()))

Appearing in midair over the North Sea, Harry Potter screamed. Magic augmented his voice, and with a flat _crack_ his scream caused a sonic shockwave, displacing the clouds around him. Tightly leashed magical energies surged in his clenched fists as he plummeted through the sky; he pulled one fist back, then hurled it downward, instinctively shaping a blasting curse as he did so. Screaming again, this time hurling a more forceful concussive wave beneath him, rather than all about, he pulled back his other fist, and repeated the gesture and spell.

Again, and again, and again and again and again, Harry screamed and hurled his rage at the empty ocean beneath him, curse after curse strung together as he hit terminal velocity, the curses scarcely moving faster than he was. Just as the first of the string of curses struck the surface of the ocean beneath him, he Apparated again, disappearing with a sharp crack, and reappearing where he had started, facing upward as his momentum was redirected upwards rather than downwards. A now-instinctive part of Harry's brain triggered the switch between blasting curses and fire spells, as even in a fit of incoherent rage he strove to continue his rising mastery of a broad range of wandless spells.

Flame erupted at his hands, hot, red, blazing out into the sky as the heat of his anger transformed via magical will into a very literal heat, spreading in a long, sharp arc as the momentum he had gained in his fall was gradually bled off, countered, and then he began to fall again. As his descent began anew, he focused more and more flame into his hands, focusing on intensity of heat rather than simple volume of fire, and his descent left a pair of blazing light trails in the sky.

Then, as he neared the surface of the ocean again, and the white heat of the flames began to drain his magical barrier to near depletion, he hurled the flames before him, and Apparated to the sky once more to watch the effects of his rage, deftly unshrinking and mounting his broom to provide a stable watching platform. The waters of the North Sea, still churning from his initial bombardment of blasting spells, swallowed the flames whole, over a thousand gallons of water flash-boiling to steam near instantly to soak the heat of Harry's anger, the air screaming as the surface pressure of the water skyrocketed and a massive gout of steam rose over the ocean.

Harry's face, impassive but hard now, remained trained upon the geyser of steam and waves of water as he gracefully backed away from the rising column of superheated water and air. The sea, however, was far too massive to bear the marks of his rage for long, and within five minutes, all that remained to mark his anger was a small flotilla of dead fish, boiled to death by the sudden heat in the water.

By the time an Auror team showed up half an hour later, he was long gone.

((()))

"Severus," McGonagall said, and Severus Snape looked up from the potions text he was perusing in the library.

"Yes, Minerva?" He said, somewhat wary.

"I have here," She said, holding up a sealed envelope, "A letter of recommendation for you as a Potions Master that I have endorsed, and recommend you use wherever you next seek employment. You are a highly skilled Potions Master, and it is only your due."

Snape waited for the other shoe to drop.

"I have here," McGonagall said, holding up a rather thick roll of parchment, "A list of names including former colleagues, former superiors, former employees, friends, and many, _many_ former students, all of which I will visit in person and request to black list you should you _ever_ seek employment as an instructor of children _ever_ again. If adults wish to seek your services as a tutor, that is entirely their own business. You may consider yourself dismissed from the service of Hogwarts; you will be permitted to stay in your current quarters until the end of July."

With that, she placed the letter of recommendation on the table in front of him, turned and left the library. Snape waited thoughtfully for a few minutes, then stood, tucked the letter into his robes, and left for his quarters, compiling a list of potential backers for his private Potions research.

((()))

Harry sat up abruptly in his bed, rapidly blinking away the fog of sleep. He very quickly realized what had woken him in the dead of the night: There was a house-elf on his bed.

"Dobby is finished finding prices, Master Harry!" Dobby said, "Dobby is finding the torches and canisterses and pipings in three different junkyards in four different countries, costing The Great Harry Potter Sir six sickles and two knuts once all the money changings has been doned."

Harry blinked again, not quite sure he was processing that properly.

"In three different junkyards, in _four_ different countries?" He asked, disbelief edging slightly into his voice.

"Yes Master Harry!" Dobby said, "It is being so!"

Harry thought for a moment, and decided it was too early in the morning to deal with these particular eccentricities on the part of the House Elf.

"Here," He said, collecting six sickles and handing them to the excitable House-Elf, "Go ahead and purchase them for me, and please place them down in the garage.

"Yes Great Harry Potter Sir!" Dobby said, and disappeared with a pop.

Harry shook his head slightly, then rolled over to try to get back to sleep.

((()))

The next morning, Harry went down to the garage to inspect his new equipment, and after probing it with his magic, found it to be in working order, if more than a little aged. He was quite impressed with the sheer distance Dobby must have gone to in order to find the equipment, as some was clearly of Russian manufacture, some of Japanese, some American, and some he did not even _recognize_ the alphabet used in its labeling.

"Dobby," He said quietly, and the House Elf appeared with a pop at his side.

"Yes, Harry Potter Sir?" Dobby said.

"You were able to purchase all of this for six sickles and two knuts?" Harry asked.

Dobby nodded enthusiastically, smiling up at Harry as he did so.

"I think," Harry said, "I may have some other purchases I wish for you to make.

((()))

Harry opened the front door of Privet Drive, to see a bushy-haired brunette standing on the front step.

"Hullo Harry," Hermione said, and promptly wrapped him in a hug, "How are you?"

"Mph," Harry replied from his position squashed against the taller girl, reaching out and cautiously hugging the girl back, "Mph mph."

"Sorry Harry," Hermione said, stepping back and allowing the boy freedom to speak again, "I'm just so happy to see you!"

"Quite," Harry said drolly, causing Hermione's smile to widen, "And as to my condition, it is quite good. And yours?"

Hermione smiled brilliantly, as Harry reached down to lift her modest travel case, and escorted her in, clearing the way for her mother to follow them in.

"Oh, it's been _brilliant_," Hermione said happily, "I've been working with Uncle George at his laboratories, and we've been working with Materials Science and Nuclear Physics, it's so _exciting_, and…"

Harry did not notice the soft smile that made its way across his features as he listened to his friend describe her summer thus far, and Hermione's mother entered the house to speak with his aunt. The three females, however, did.

((()))

Hermione Granger had never stayed over at a friend's house for so much as a single night before, much less a week, and found it to, on the whole, be an intriguing experience. The house's furniture and decor itself was simple, but functional, and judging by pictures she'd seen around the house from both before, and after, Vernon had been sent to prison, it was now very deliberately so. Petunia Evans, as mistress of the house, was very efficient, and dealt with both Harry and her son with a practiced deliberateness; keeping her son in tight discipline, and mostly leaving Harry to his own devices.

Dudley Dursley was a studiously polite boy, calling her and Harry to meal times, always pulling her chair back for her, and offering to show her around the neighborhood. She could tell that he would grow into a handsome young man, and if he maintained his habitual courtesy, many girls would be interested in courting him.

Harry Potter, on the other hand…

Hermione had only her memories of the month and change during first year they had both still been attending Hogwarts, and what she remembered of that time was mostly his obsessive study and research habits. Here, at Privet Drive, where underage magic was illegal, and he had no magical library to consult, she found his study habits considerably altered. Aside from the hour or two spent each day eating and engaging in household chores, he spent almost every waking hour working to improve his mastery of magic, and survival skills.

Hermione followed Harry to his three two hour sessions at a local dojo during that week, where a stout Asian man taught Harry how to wield a shortsword. He spent, on average, two hours each day in the local parks, forests, and fields, identifying plants and animals, and harvesting portions of edible ones, which he would later prepare with salt or other preservatives, and formed his (and her) lunch each day, as well as serving as any necessary snacks. She sat in his room, continuing her own studies, as he worked runes in simple stone sheets with his own blood; he wasn't as far along in his studies with Ancient Runes as she was, but he was attempting to move directly into the practical aspects of enchanting with them, something she had hardly even touched on herself. Hermione was also more than happy to help him with his Potions practice, an area where her skills far outstripped his, largely because it was an entirely methodical discipline, something that suited Hermione perfectly. Harry was only working on mastering a limited number of potions that she recognized as very useful for, unsurprisingly, survival purposes, but they were well above the level of a second year's typical material.

What surprised her the most, however, was what he was doing with the only form of active magic that he seemed to be able to perform over the Summer without drawing the ministry's attention: Apparition. Hermione sat in Harry's room with him, quietly working through her own study material, as he spent hour upon hour upon hour, at least four every day she was there, practicing Apparition. He would sit on his bed, then teleport from one end of it to another, sometimes nearly falling off half-way over the edge. He would stand in one place, and appear in another, facing a different direction. He would leap across the room, disappearing in mid-leap, re-appearing and landing, sometimes poorly, sometimes well.

And sometimes he would simply Apparate from one side of the room to the other and back again, and again, and again, and _again_, more and more quickly, to no end that she could perceive. It was this particular activity that finally broke her patience, and pushed her to ask him just what he was doing.

"Harry," She asked when he was taking a breather between spurts of Apparition, "What are you doing with all this jumping around?"

"Mobility, Hermione," Harry said, sitting on his bed, and facing her as she sat at her desk, "Apparition allows instantaneous travel to anywhere within a range dependent upon the user's power, and causes an amount of magical fatigue proportionate to the distance traveled. Apparition preserves momentum, but not direction; and as best I can tell, the only limitation on how swiftly one can Apparate, is how quickly one can muster the necessary focus and exert the magical energy. Mobility, Hermione, wins wars. If I can master Apparition to a sufficient degree, then I will automatically win any fight in an area not warded against Apparition, so long as I am not caught completely unawares."

Hermione thought for some time before responding.

"Harry," She eventually said, "Is everything you do oriented around fighting and survival?"

"Yes," Harry said, "There can be no freedom without strength."

"I'll need to think about that," Hermione said quietly; Harry nodded, and returned to his practice.

((()))

"Harry," Hermione said softly, and Harry turned to look at her.

In Harry's opinion, she had displayed an admirable amount of stealth for someone so utterly inexperienced with such things, but he had been awake and aware of her the moment she began to open the door to slip into his room.

"Yes, Hermione?" Harry responded quietly.

"Can we talk?" She asked.

Harry glanced at his clock, which read 1 AM, and nodded.

"Harry," Hermione said, pausing for a moment then continuing all in a rush, "You practice for fighting and survival for your freedom, but what do you intend to do with freedom?"

Harry had no ready response for the question, so he simply lay there, thinking.

"Aside from continuing to build strength," Harry said, "I intend to fight bullies and tyrants where I find them. I assume you are enquiring as to beyond that?"

Hermione nodded, which Harry could barely see in the dark room.

"I don't really know," Harry said honestly, "The only thing I had before my fight for freedom, was trying to win the Dursley's approval. I'm _not_ going back to that."

Hermione quietly crossed the room, and bent over to wrap Harry in a hug. Closing his eyes, and glad that the lack of light hid the pain on his face, Harry returned the hug silently.

"I wish this week weren't already over," Hermione said quietly, "But next time we visit, maybe we can find something fun to do together?"

"I'd like that," Harry said thickly.

Hermione flopped down onto his bed beside him, and held him as he silently cried; come morning when he woke up, she was still holding him.

((()))

The next day, after Hermione had left, Harry went down to the garage, and tested the welding/cutting equipment Dobby had acquired for him. After familiarizing himself with its operation to his satisfaction, he went into the back yard, and dug up the box he had concealed there more than a year before. Shaking it around carefully, he settled the single audible object in the bottom front left corner, then angled it so the bottom back right corner was at the lowest point, and fired up the cutting torch.

Two minutes later, he had cut a fist-sized hole in the lead box, and began dousing it with water from the hose. Once it was sufficiently cooled to no longer be a danger to the box's contents, he carefully shook the box, and a small red stone dropped out.

"Now," Harry said, "What's this?"

((()))

"WELL THEN!" George Granger roared, "As you have MASTERED the fundamentals of NUCLEAR PHYSICS in a mere _TWO MONTHS!_

"Excuse me Uncle George," Hermione cut in, and the man froze in place, his posture and bearing suddenly shifting to that of an attentive adult.

"Yes dear?" He asked calmly.

"Well," Hermione said, "Before we go any further, I realized I should probably let you know about some of my other fields of study," She waved towards the door to the lab, and an apparently youthful woman stepped in, smiling.

"This is my tutor," Hermione said, "Misses Andromeda Tonks, and she'll explain a few things to you about Transfiguration…"

((()))

Sirius Black looked over the form one last time, before signing it with a grin, and handing it over to the lawyer seated across from him. The lawyer spent a few minutes studying it, before nodding at the American official standing at the door, then tucking it into his briefcase.

"Well, Mister Black," The Official said, "It is my pleasure to welcome you to Magical America. I hope you enjoy your stay."

"Oh," Sirius said, "I _will_, I can promise you that."

((()))

Hermione had begun to worry at the mad grin slowly growing on her uncle's face, and the mad laughter that erupted when Andromeda Tonks _finished_ her explanation quite nearly scared her.

"THERE WILL BE!" Geroge Granger shouted, "SO MUCH **SCIENCE!"**

And then Andromeda stunned him.

"Is he always this… excitable?" She asked hesitantly.

Hermione just nodded sadly. There was a _reason_ she was hesitant to work with Uncle George…

((()))

"Good morning, Mister Potter," McGonagall said, smiling at Harry.

"Good Morning Professor McGonagall," Harry said smiling slightly, stepping back from the door, "Please come in."

"Thank you Harry," McGonagall said, counting the small smile as another small victory.

A few moments later, seated in the living room with tea and biscuits from Petunia, McGonagall addressed Harry again.

"Harry," She said, "I've come here for two reasons. The first is to inform you that Hyacinth and David Granger have agreed to Hermione attending Hogwarts three days out of the week this coming year."

Harry's eyebrows went up in surprise at that, and another small smile edged onto his face, though he didn't notice it himself.

"The second," McGonagall continued, smiling herself, "Was to inquire if you would be interested in me teaching you the Animagus Transformation this coming year?"

This time, Harry noticed his own smile, it was simply too large to miss.

((()))

"He will conquer who has learnt the artifice of deviation. Such is the art of maneuvering."

-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 6, Section 30

End Chapter 7.

((()))

AN: I'll be timeskipping the entirety of third year. There are some plot relevant things that'll be taking place there, but frankly, I want to keep them secret. So there!

Also, I have mentioned that there will be a sequel; be warned, the sequel will not be following promptly on the heels of this project. I intend to focus more on my original work again for a time, and the sequel is going to be a much broader-focus story, which I will need to spend a lot of time firming up the background for before I start posting it. Larger, more complex plots have too much potential for inconsistency if they're not handled carefully.

George Granger's character _may_, _possibly_ have been _ever so slightly_ influenced by all the Youtube videos of Cave Johnson my Beta, Provost Zakharov (who accused me of using a shady comma and a rogue comma in this chapter), has gotten me to watch lately. Maybe. **COMBUSTIBLE LEMONS!**


	9. Chapter 8

Revised AN: Something that I meant to include in the original version, but kept forgetting as I went through an author meltdown during the later chapters, was letters from Sirius to Harry. Well, I'm adding them now, so enjoy.

((()))

Chapter 8.

((()))

_Hey Harry!_

_I've officially been granted asylum by the Department of Magical Affairs, and I've got to tell you, these people _really_ know how to treat a man. They sent me off to rehab and therapy as soon as the paperwork on Asylum was finished, which has the downside of them always wanting to talk about my time in Azkaban, but the upside of a hospital staffed with attractive young nurses. Everything's all done up with muggle technology too, and I can see why back in the day, Lily used to go on little rants about how backward Wizarding society. Some of the staff are really friendly, and I've nabbed the attention of a couple of the nurses by telling them stories from back home, a couple of the others though, and one of the doctors, seem to think that me being a pureblood, and especially a Black, makes me some kind of garbage._

_Of course, aside from Andy and myself, Blacks _are_ pretty much trash, so they'll find no argument from me there. How's things in good old Hogwarts? How's the lovely young miss Granger? She kissed you yet?_

_-Sirius_

((()))

"That," McGonagall said severely, "Is what a year at school is _supposed_ to be like. No students attacking each other, no Basilisks running amok, and _especially_ no incompetent professors."

She was addressing the Hogwarts faculty in the staff room, and more than a few emphatic nods met her remarks.

"It has been nice not having to deal with divisive elements amongst the staff," Flitwick said happily.

"Was it really that bad?" Lupin, the previous year's DADA professor, and the coming year's Potions professor, as well as the new head of Gryffindor House, asked.

"Severus was an excellent Potions Master," McGonagall said, "However, he made a habit of using the full authority of his position to prosecute his vendetta against James Potter, against Harry. If I had not intervened two years ago, I suspect Harry would have done him substantial injury."

Lupin nodded gravely; In every single one of his Defense classes that year, Harry had _always_ mastered the spells first, if he did not already know them.

"Lockhart was almost as bad," Sinistra said, scowling, "The blighter kept trying to flirt with me. Ruddy fop."

Sprout snorted.

"If he has learned a single thing since graduating twenty years ago," She said, "It is how to take better care of his appearance. That boy always was more concerned with what people thought of him, than what he actually was. A cowardly braggart seems a logical result of such an attitude."

"I understand the… _difficulties_ that have been involved in keeping the Defense post staffed," McGonagall said, "But I still think he could have found better than _Lockhart_. Of course, lack of time due to his multiple commitments was why he had to retire, so I suppose it shouldn't surprise me he ended up settling for less."

"Speaking of which," Pomfrey asked, "Who have you hired to replace Remus?"

"Amelia Bones," McGonagall said with a self-satisfied smile, "If there is a more qualified instructor, I do not know who it is."

"Indeed," Flitwick said, pausing to take a sip of tea before continuing, "Next year should be most interesting."

((()))

Harry sat quietly, _contently,_ on the Hogwarts express as it progressed steadily South. Those seated in the compartment with him were chatting quietly amongst themselves, or sleeping. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones had begun to spend study time around him and Hermione from the very beginning of the year, apparently on the recommendation of Susan's aunt, who knew Hermione's magical tutor. Ginevra Weasley and Luna Lovegood had been invited to actually study _with_ them, rather than sit two tables away, blushing and giggling, by the pair of Hufflepuffs, something Harry was still not entirely sure was a good idea. Neville Longbottom had more or less been dragged into their study groups by Hermione, who had refused to tell him why when he asked her about it.

The three Slytherins rounding the group out, and making the compartment into a tight fit that would likely not be able to handle the next year's growth, Blaise Zabini, Tracy Davis, and Daphne Greengrass, had joined their group, apparently, at the prodding of Aurora Sinistra, their Head of House, as one of many measures intended to end the wall of separation between Slytherin and most of the other houses.

Slytherin had been a very different house this year, with no Severus Snape, and Draco Malfoy having turned into a studious introvert. It had changed the social environment of the school; the first month of the school year had seen the full authority of the Heads of House, and the Headmistress, coming down like a hammer on any and all bullying in _any_ house, with escalating punishments, until one of the Slytherin prefects had been expelled after being caught trying to cover up such behavior.

Harry had paid careful attention to McGonagall's reforms of the school, noting their effects, and his respect for the woman had only grown. The total amount of fear in the school had declined, and as far as Harry was concerned, that was more than enough to tell him McGonagall knew what she was about.

((()))

Gabrielle Delacour was on a _Mission_, with a capital M and everything. Her sister had locked herself into her room to cry again, and Gabrielle was _not_ going to allow that to stand. She had a lemon meringue pie and a bag full of chocolate croissants, and fifty feet of rope, and with this, she was certain her mission would be a success, if she could only get over her fear of heights.

She carefully stared down over the edge of their country house's roof, and tugged on the rope again, to make sure it was secure. She was three stories up, and falling was a very frightening thought to the nine year old, but her big sister _needed_ her. Nervously checking to make sure the sack with the pie and croissants was properly seated on her back, Gabrielle took a deep breath, gripped the rope tightly, and began climbing down the side of the house.

She had seen her papa climbing down rock faces like this before, something he did for fun, which she couldn't imagine. Mimicking the way she had seen him move, she 'walked' backwards down the side of the house, bearing her weight on her arms, slowly, carefully, gripping the rope with the strength of desperate fear. It was a surprisingly brief climb down to her sister's open window, but she supposed it really wasn't all that surprising, she was only climbing down a single floor after all.

Having successfully reached the window, it was a simple matter to wriggle her way through, careful not to crush the pastries she was carrying, then plant her feet on the floor of her sister's room. Looking around, she found that a half dozen picture frames lay on the floor by the south wall, smashed, and her sister was wrapped up beneath her blankets on her large double bed, holding one of her pillows, and as best Gabrielle could tell by the way she was trembling, crying silently.

Her face set in a determined scowl, Gabrielle marched across the room to her sister's bed, placing her sack on Fleur's bedside stand, and opening it. She winced slightly when she found that one of the croissants had become partially imbedded in the top of the pie, and pulled it carefully out. After spreading the assortment of pastries out on the end table, she climbed onto the bed, and crawled under the covers in search of Fleur.

"Fleur," She said as she wormed her way through the blankets, "Fleur, did you have to break up with your boyfriend again?"

Her sobs rising into the audible range was the only response Gabrielle received, but it was more than enough for her.

"Well then he must have been a jerk," Gabrielle said firmly as she found her sister's back, and pulled her firmly into a hug, "And jerks don't deserve my big sister."

Fleur did not respond, so Gabrielle simply lay there, holding her sister while she cried. When she was still crying some time later, Gabrielle frowned.

"Maybe you can just marry papa," She said, "All the other boys seem to be idiots."

Choking laughter interrupted Fleur's tears, and though Gabrielle wasn't sure _why_ her sister was laughing, she was glad she wasn't crying anymore, so she smiled.

"I think," Fleur said after regaining her breath, "That mama might object to that."

Gabrielle tugged on Fleur, who responded by sitting upright, and unwrapping them from the bundle of blankets.

"Well," Gabrielle said, "We'll just have to find you a new boy then. I'm sure we can find one that's not a jerk somewhere."

"I'm not sure," Fleur said sadly, turning to face her sister, "All of them seem to want the same thing from me, and won't stay with me if I don't sleep with them."

Gabrielle scowled at her sister's tear-streaked face.

"Your face," She said, "Is entirely too sad. It needs pie."

Confusion crossed Fleur's face for a moment, until Gabrielle reached over to the bedside table, and withdrew the pie, which was already cut, and offered it to Fleur.

"Oh Gabrielle," Fleur said with a bittersweet smile, as she accepted the pie, then a fork, from her sister, "Whatever would I do without you?"

"Eat less pie," Gabrielle said, smiling up at her sister as she withdrew her own fork from the sack, and then the two sisters dug in.

((()))

_The Philosopher's Stone_, Harry though, _Or the Sorceror's Stone, if you prefer. What was this doing in a school?_

He had been researching what it might be, off and on, over the entire course of the school year, but it had been, ironically enough, a Chocolate Frog card, that had clued him in to the connection between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel. It had taken him the first week of Summer break to figure out how to use it to turn lead into gold, simply boil both the stone and the lead in water, but he still did not know how one produced the Elixir of Life with it.

The ability to create gold had been plenty enough in and of itself; Dobby was busy taking ten pound chunks of pure gold to various purchasers around the world for sale, careful not to flood the market and depreciate Gold's value. Harry was very rapidly becoming an incredibly wealthy young man. What he intended to _do_ with that wealth, he was not entirely sure, but money was, in a very real way, power, and one that he was not willing to forego when he held it so readily in his grasp. He was going to need to develop a secure way of storing all that wealth however, something he would spend some time thinking on.

((()))

"I understand you were rather withdrawn this year at school," Lucius Malfoy said to his son.

Draco stared back across the table at his father, expression a carefully crafted mask that Lucius discovered, to his surprise, he could no longer read past.

"I have focused more on my studies than in previous years," Draco said calmly, meeting his father's gaze briefly before turning back to his meal.

"Draco," His father said, "I have told you many times of the importance of the connections you establish in school."

"Yes," Draco said, "I am well aware of the importance of such, but I have been waiting for the field to stabilize before making another move."

"What do you mean, Draco?" Narcissa asked.

"I'm referring to McGonagall's changes to the school, and how Potter is affecting the social landscape," Draco said, "Social power is held in different ways at Hogwarts now."

"How so?" Lucius asked curiously; his close management of Fudge had allowed him little attention to his son's schooling.

"Under McGonagall," Draco said, "Nobody gets away with _anything_. The only students who still habitually break the rules are the Weasley twins, and that's because they're willing to spend half of their weekends and evenings in detention for their pranks. Marcus Flint was expelled at the end of the first week of school for trying to intimidate a group of first years into not reporting the bullying of other first years. Intimidation is an utterly useless tool, and Harry Potter has become the social measuring stick for our year without even trying."

"What has he done to establish himself in such a position?"

Draco laughed, surprising both Narcissa and Lucius, and Lucius found, to his consternation that there was a faint mocking element to the laughter.

"Father," Draco said, "Do you know _why_ Dumbledore chose to retire as Headmaster?"

"No," Lucius said after a moment's pause, "I do not."

"Something happened between Potter and McGonagall," Draco said, "No one, and I mean _no one_, knows just what, except for Potter and McGonagall themselves, during first year. After that, McGonagall put Professor Snape on probation, removing him as head of house, and convinced Dumbledore that he needed to retire. In essence, most of the students believe Harry Potter engineered Dumbledore's retirement, and McGonagall's ascension. Considering how effect a Headmistress she has been, the vast majority of students feel considerable gratitude towards him. Combine this with the rumors that he defeated a Troll in first year, McGonagall's word that he somehow defeated a Basilisk in second year, and that he is known to have bested Crabbe, Goyle, and myself multiple times, but neither boasts nor brags of _any_ of these things, and he has successfully gained an air of reserved, untouchable power. Before Flint was expelled, several upper year students in Slytherin were considering attacking him simply to break this reputation."

A long silence passed as Lucius digested his son's words.

"And your personal impression of him?" Lucius eventually asked.

"I attempted to exchange spells with him twice," Draco said, "But one could not even call them duels. During first year, after you taught me the stunning spell, I caught him in a perfect ambush position, casting a spell at him with no warning in an empty corridor, he dodged the spell, and blocked my follow up with a summoned suit of armor, then I never saw him again. Somehow he took my wand, and as you will recall, I found it snapped in the entrance hall the next day. I _still_ do not know how he did that.

"The second time I confronted him and demanded a formal duel, which he declined. When I moved to cast anyways, he summoned Crabbe and Goyle into me before I could even finish casting my spell. I never even saw him draw his wand. He stunned us and turned our wands over to McGonagall, who made us each do a month's detention in exchange for their return. He also claimed he'd held you at sword-point, and informed me that until I was better than _you_, I should not even attempt to face _him_."

Draco was staring directly at his father as he finished his recounting, and noticed the slight flush that crossed Lucius face.

"He did, didn't he?" Draco said, and Lucius scowled.

"He caught me unprepared," Lucius said, "I had not expected the boy to be so dangerous."

Draco laughed, and this time the note of derision was clear.

"Harry Potter catches _everyone_ unprepared," Draco said, "I've been _watching _him. He is _never_ caught off guard. I paid Theodore Nott to be 'clumsy' with his banishing charms in class once, but even when the spell came at him from behind, he evaded it. He is aware of everyone in a room, and of _every_ bit of magic directed him, though I don't know how. He practices his spells obsessively, I have never seen him doing anything except eat, study, practice magic, or take a shit. Even in the bathrooms he checks every person who walks through the door! I'd say the boy was paranoid, but he isn't _afraid_, just _aware_. He caught you off guard because nobody is ever as _on guard_ as he is, except maybe for Dumbledore.

"Nobody pays as much attention to these things as I do, except maybe for that mudblood he saved from the Troll during first year, and the way she looks at him, the only thing he's in danger of from her is a thorough snogging. The other students see how he carries himself though, with an absolute confidence, and it's common knowledge that he's not just McGonagall's favorite, but that she trusts him implicitly. Apparently she announced it to Gryffindor house the other year after he paid to have her un-petrified. He's the one with all the power at Hogwarts, and everyone knows it. I've made myself into his enemy, and everyone knows that too."

The table was silent for a long time when Draco finished speaking. Some minutes later, it was his mother who eventually broke the silence.

"What will you do, Draco?" She asked softly.

"I'm not certain yet," Draco said, "As best I can tell, I'll either have to make nice with him, or simply stay on the sidelines until we graduate."

((()))

Harry Potter, age fourteen, walked into Gringott's bank. His hair and scar were completely covered by a simple baseball hat, and he was wearing contacts rather than glasses, a difference which was more than sufficient to prevent him from being easily recognized, a necessity with his celebrity status. Surveying the bank, he selected the teller that was the least visible from other positions in the lobby, and moved up in front of the Goblin.

"I would like to make a deposit," He said, placing a twenty pound gold bar on the Goblin's desk.

((()))

"Well," George Granger said, staring across his desk at his niece, "Now that you're free from other scholastic commitments, I hope you have more time for Science?"

"Uncle George," Hermione said seriously, smiling, "There's _always_ time for Science."

George Granger smiled too.

((()))

Harry Potter, age fourteen, temporarily potion-aged to appear eighteen, with legitimate but glamered documentation to prove it, walked into a Wells Fargo bank branch in London during the slow hours between two and four PM. There were only two tellers at the counter, the two young women only occupied with chatting with each other; wearing a polite smile, Harry approached one of the two.

"Excuse me," He said, "I would like to know if your bank accepts electronic fund transfers."

"Yes we do sir," The teller said, eyeing him up and down.

"In that case," Harry said, pulling out his wallet and withdrawing five hundred pounds, "I would like to open an account.

((()))

As he always did after a game, Victor Krum sought solitude. After seeing the way the English and Irish behaved at sporting events, he was thankful that his own people were much more restrained in their expression of adulation, but he still preferred solitude after the game, win or loss.

This loss had been different though. Krum considered the Golden Snitch he held in his hand; it still attempted to escape every now and then, but by and large it was quiescent. For the first time in his career, Krum's skill alone had not been sufficient to bring victory; his teammates had been completely outclassed by the Irish Chasers, and even when the team's coach had subtly ordered the Veela to pose a distraction, their team had still been crushed.

This was the first time ever that Krum had not been able to accomplish anything and everything that was needed by himself, and he was unsure what to make of that.

((()))

Harry walked into one of the Citibank branches in London…

((()))

George Granger sat across from Hermione Granger and Andromeda Tonks, picking through the remains of their delivered lunch.

"So," George said, "Now that you're finally up to speed with where I am so far," He said, "How do you think your extra-natural abilities can contribute to the project?"

"Well," Hermione said, "I've been working with Arithmancy and Runes on a small ward that will collect all of an element within any mass placed within its area of effect. It'll be slow, but if I can get Harry to help Andromeda charge it, and we use a vacuum chamber, we should be able to use it to collect any element in completely pure form."

"That would certainly be useful," George said, "It'd save us a bundle on purchasing supplies. Can you do the reverse though?"

Hermione frowned before answering.

"Sort of," She said, "I can make a ward that will fuse whatever is within it together, but I can't get it to form organized structures yet, which makes it mostly useless for crafting composites. I was actually hoping to ask you for help, as the Arithmancy works a bit like programming a computer with the molecular structures we want, and I was thinking that…"

((()))

Harry appeared abruptly over the North sea, sitting astride his broom. It was August now, and he was restless with thought. Harry knew now, after his confrontation with Scrimgeour, and the Ministry's continuing inability to track his Apparition, that if he wished, he could disappear from the world, and safely conceal himself nearly anywhere he wished. He had mastered simple disguise potions, he was magically and physically fit; he had found no mention of professional magical trackers anywhere in the world, and no non-magical tracker would stand a chance at tracking him down. If nothing else, he could magick himself a sealed, heated environment in Antarctica, and have no human contact at all.

He was free. And not only was Harry free, he _knew_ he was free, and with time and practice, the magnitude of his abilities would only increase; his magical core wasn't even fully mature yet, and he could already Apparate more swiftly, and to a greater distance than almost any adult wizard. Harry knew that if a sufficient quantity of sufficiently powerful or resourceful people wished to track him down and subdue him, it would eventually happen, no man was of _unlimited_ power, but Harry had spent the last six years of his life making certain that it would be beyond prohibitively expensive to do such a thing to him.

A scowl crossed Harry's features as his thoughts took a darker turn.

_Voldemort_. And that damned 'prophecy.'

Harry had freedom of a sort, but Voldemort's wraith, and his old followers, were both numerous, and had a great many resources at their disposal, even if they were mostly incompetent in utilizing them. He needed a way to deal with them before he left Britain, or they'd come after him, but aside from just killing them all, something he was _not_ prepared to do, he had no idea what.

_Maybe I should ask Hermione…_ Harry thought.

((()))

Harry sat on the small island he had purchased a week ago (as well as a number of other properties around the world), and stared across the improvised firing range at the set of ballistic gel targeting dummies. There were a dozen of them, and thanks to the _Reparo_ spell, he would only need more when he moved up to heavy testing. Not that he couldn't afford more. Harry wasn't sure if Dobby even _slept_, the Elf spent so much time selling gold to various buyers around the world, then mailing cash deposits to various branches of the banks Harry had opened accounts at, helping Harry rapidly accumulate a diversified mass of wealth. Soon, he would begin looking into companies that had enough stock available that he could acquire controlling interests; Harry did not desire any less than a controlling number of shares.

That was for later though, for now, Harry was going to engage in weapon's testing. It was amazing the number of illicit arms dealers who would sell to literally anybody in exchange for gold, rather than potentially traceable currency. To his left were over two dozen AK-47's, a half dozen M-4's and M-16's, a variety of RPG's, a CZ Skorpion, 3 MP-40's, an MP5, a dozen Berretta's of different models and modifications, and a single M2 machine gun. The assorted varieties of ammunition were kept in crates beyond the weapons cases. Dobby would have brought more, but Harry did not want more weapons than he was able to effectively familiarize himself within his limited time span.

To his right were marbles, an assortment of small knives, small rocks, books, and other items that could be easily carried inconspicuously or found in everyday living. In carefully-packed crates behind him, were grenades, sticks of dynamite, a variety of explosives used for mining and controlled demolitions, and a handful of antipersonnel mines Dobby had been able to get his hands on. Harry had told Hermione nothing of the Stone, the wealth he had acquired from it, and especially the testing he was about to begin conducting.

Reaching out with a tendril of his magic to probe the improvised bunker one hundred yards behind him, and finding Dobby still present with a handful of faint magical signatures he recognized as the healing potions he had prepared in case of emergency, Harry steeled himself, and began his testing. In territory none patrolled or watched for 'illegal' underaged magic now, Harry wandlessly summoned one of the ballistic gel dummies to himself, and placed it ten feet from his weapon pile. Then he summoned one of the AK-47's to his hand, as well as two clips. After loading the weapon carefully, he faced the dummy, and unloaded the entire clip into it.

Stepping forward, he examined the dummy carefully; it was shot through in every place it had been struck. The ballistic gel, designed to simulate human flesh in how it reacted to physical stresses and damage, had been splattered and strewn all across the firing range. Harry inspected the damage carefully, then repaired the target dummy. After spending a few moments to inspect the weapon he had used, Harry reloaded it with the second clip, before using a wandless bastardization of the hovering and banishing charms to float the clips back to the crate they had come from.

Harry then levitated the assault rifle, and stuck his arm out in front of the muzzle. After pausing a moment to brace himself mentally, he pulled the trigger with a small flick of magic. His control over the weapon was lousy through the spell, and even at point blank range, and the distraction caused by bullets slamming into his arm didn't help anything. When Harry stopped firing, nine flattened bullets were either in the process of falling from his arm to the ground, or already lay there.

Sitting, Harry carefully placed the spent weapon on the ground beside him, took out a piece of paper and a notebook, and began recording the results.

_Barrier only slightly weakened by easily lethal gunfire at point blank range. Barrier spread impact shock across body to prevent local damage. Rounds that struck physically deformed by impact, and showed no signs of ricochet; barrier does not reflect or return kinetic energy in any way._

Nodding to himself, Harry stowed his writing tools, summoned another pair of clips, then switched the AK to single-shot mode before continuing the testing. Over the course of the day, Harry tested every single small arm against both the ballistic dummy, and his own barrier, in every mode of fire they had available, taking notes of how effective each weapon was against both the gel and his barrier, and how well he could handle the recoil.

On the second day, Harry experimented with banishing objects as fast and hard as he could, again against both the gel and his body's protective barrier. On the third day, he tested combat spells, and discovered, as he had somewhat suspected since the beginning of second year, that his barrier was substantially less effective against magic. It did not particularly surprise him, as his barrier had been formed to protect him from physical assault, not magical. The fact that he suffered from the occasional cold had already been plenty to inform him that he was not protected from biological attack vectors, but he knew he would have to test chemical soon.

On the fourth day, Harry tested his barrier against explosives of various sizes. His barrier was extremely effective against simple blasts, but military explosives that sent out shrapnel substantially drained his barrier. He also destroyed three dummies beyond his ability to repair with spells that day. The explosive tests suggested to Harry that focused energies were more dangerous to him than overall energy of impact, and he further tested this on the fifth day by levitating boulders of increasing size, and dropping them on himself.

Harry discovered that penetrating force was indeed more dangerous to him than blunt force, and also that his barrier would protect his chest from initial impact, but weight over time would still force the breath out of him, and it was up to the strength of his own muscles to recover it. Harry spent the sixth day directly comparing the effects of various spells and weapons on his barrier to each other, and working on a more solid understanding of just how much of a beating his barrier could take before it failed.

On the seventh, and final day of the week that he had dedicated to his testing, he experimented with charms that lessened or increased the apparent weight of the weapons and bullets, to see what effect it had on recoil, as well as making sure that shrinking and then unshrinking them did not in some way interfere with their functionality. Much as he expected, he found that a lighter gun resulted in higher recoil, a heavier gun resulted in a lesser recoil, but his slight build did not give him the strength to handle a heavier weapon effectively. He did find, however, that lighter bullets did make for a moderately more manageable recoil, and more accuracy, as the same amount of driving force resulted in a higher muzzle velocity. It cost him somewhat in penetration, but he did not expect that to be a problem, as Wizards almost universally went unarmored, and Dragon hide, the only form of armor any seemed to bother with, was obscenely expensive, and would render small arms fire irrelevant anyways.

Harry realized that he had the wealth to purchase such himself, and a simple adjustment to his appearance to make it look 'different' somehow would neatly fit as an explanation to others about the effects of his barrier. Not to mention augment its protective ability even further.

The next morning, Harry shrunk one of every weapon variety he owned, transfigured a number of belt pouches to hold them and their shrunk and lightened ammunition, and left the island to find himself some Dragon hide.

((()))

Hermione hummed happily to herself as she carried their latest prototype across the lab to a clear steel work-bench. Her uncle George had passed out in front of his computer, snoring gently into the waterproofed keyboard (he drooled sometimes), and Andromeda Tonks had claimed the couch in her Uncle's adjacent office. They still hadn't been able to figure out a way to use magic to mix elements into useful, cohesive structures, but more access to purified elements had allowed their work to continue via more mundane means, resulting in the test piece Hermione now held in her hands.

After glancing over her shoulder to make sure that the door to the office where Andromeda was sleeping was cracked open, thus making her tutor 'present' for legal purposes, Hermione placed the prototype carefully on a pair of brackets on the steel work bench. She then cast three layers of silencing charms around the bench and herself, before examining the rectangular test piece carefully to ensure it had been placed properly, and generally fit right.

Then she picked up a small sledge hammer and slammed it down onto the piece with as much force as she could. The plate of composite material, two millimeters thick, barely shivered under the force of the blow, and showed absolutely no sign whatsoever of damage. Hermione smiled. The composite plate was hardly original or unique in it's structural properties, but it was something that had taken only the three of them to produce, and produce _cheaply_.

((()))

Harry was more than slightly surprised when he received a letter from Lucius Malfoy asking for a private meeting. He responded with an acceptance, but named his own alternate meeting location and time; Trafalgar Square, noon, the following day. Malfoy agreed.

((()))

"Hello, Potter," Malfoy said, sneer both on his face and in his tone.

It was raining, somewhat heavily, and Harry was wearing a heavy overcoat, while Malfoy was escorted by two men, one of which held an umbrella over him.

"Hello, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, turning from where he had been looking at Nelson's column to gaze up at Malfoy, "What do you want?"

"Your surrender, Potter," Malfoy said, "I control the ministry now, _especially _the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You are developing into a formidable wizard, but you cannot stand against the entire ministry. You would, however, be a useful asset to me, and as such if you surrender yourself and enter my service, I will be willing to overlook the previous unpleasantness between us."

Harry stared at the tall, confident blonde, well dressed in a suit that was somewhat archaic by modern muggle standards, but not so much so as to draw undue attention. He stared Malfoy in the eyes, his own calm, unblinking gaze meeting the pureblood patriarch's cool, commanding gaze. In that moment, Harry Potter saw something in Lucius Malfoy's eyes that made him realize that the man, as he was, would never be able to understand him, and unless Malfoy could make Harry like him, would always, _always_ fear him for it. And the only way that men like Malfoy knew to respond to something they could neither understand nor control, was to destroy it.

"The only reason I do not kill you where you stand," Harry said softly, "Is because I do not wish to become a killer at the age of fourteen."

Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, and his two escorts shifted into a more ready, wary posture.

"You may control the Ministry," Harry said, "And you are most probably right, in that I do not have the magical ability to defeat the entire Ministry. But the entire Ministry is not _here_. And if you send a team of Aurors to arrest me on trumped up charges, I will face only a single team of Aurors, not the entire ministry. There is only one man in all of Wizarding Britain that I believe could defeat me, and that is Albus Dumbledore."

"Arrogant boy," Malfoy sneered, and Harry laughed softly in reply.

"Maybe," Harry said, "But you should know, Rufus Scrimgeour thought me arrogant as well, and I took his wand before he managed a single spell. I will be taking my OWL's in twenty-two months, Malfoy. After this time, I intend to leave Britain. If you stay out of my way until then, and do not attack my allies, we will clash no further. Good day, Mister Malfoy."

And with that, Harry turned, and began walking away through the rain. Malfoy's hand itched for his wand, tempted by the open back his enemy was foolishly presenting.

"Oh and Lucius," Harry shouted over his shoulder as he walked away, "Dumbledore is not one of my allies."

Those unexpected words stilled Malfoy's itching hand with surprise. Every political and ideological opponent Malfoy had ever faced had been aligned with Dumbledore, under the ancient wizard's leadership in fact, since before Lucius had been born. And Albus Dumbledore still was a powerful, nearly controlling influence in the Wizengamot, not to mention the ICW. If Lucius was caught moving against a 14 year old boy, even one who had held him at swordpoint, Albus Dumbledore would ruin him publicly. And if Lucius intended to keep Fudge in power, or arrange a suitable successor, Dumbledore would have to go.

On the whole, Lucius would be surprised if he could effectively remove or cripple Dumbledore's power in only two years, barring a scandal of large proportions. Malfoy nodded to himself and turned to leave, his escorts falling in with him.

_Dumbledore first,_ Malfoy thought to himself, _And we shall see if Potter has actually left once I am finished with the old goat._

He very determinedly did not allow himself to think about the sliver of fear that had run through him when Harry Potter had stared him calmly in the eyes, and threatened his death.

((()))

The next day, Harry sat himself down on the Hogwarts Express next to Hermione Granger, who greeted him with a smile and a hug.

"How was your Summer, Harry?" she asked, smiling brightly.

"I would think you would already know," Harry said, returning her smile with a small one of his own, "With the number of letters you demanded of me over the course of it."

"Letters are wonderful," Hermione said dismissively, "But they are no substitute for personal interaction. Now how was your Summer!"

"Productive," Harry said, allowing his smile to turn somewhat impish, "I have been rather successful in a few private projects I might tell you about some day. How was France?"

For a brief moment, Harry could see the frustration on Hermione's face as her inherently curious nature railed against not knowing what his 'private projects' were, and something in Harry ached slightly at frustrating his friend. Before a true inner conflict over it could begin, however, Hermione smiled softly, then launched into an excited (and educational) rendition of her family's vacation in France, and the many educational tours, museums, and historical sites they had visited.

She hadn't even finished covering the first week when Luna Lovegood entered the compartment, greeting them with a dreamy smile and a nod, and seated herself on Hermione's other side, listening attentively to the Granger's avid story recounting.

"Hello Luna," Hermione said when she felt the blond sitting down next to her before launching back into the story, "So then Uncle George, who had had more than a few drinks, decided that he needed to calculate the PH of each drink, so that he could derive the amount of alcohol in them, and thereby accurately control his rate of alcohol consumption, and therefore degree of drunkenness. He had, apparently, memorized the PH of Alcohol and all common components in mixed drinks while he was an undergraduate, so that hangovers would not interfere with his studies the day after parties. So anyways, it turns out the bartender was a graduate student studying Chemical Engineering at one of the local universities, and when she saw his calculations, started arguing with him that he was doing it wrong."

At this point, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott entered the cabin, and seated themselves across from Hermione and Harry. After greetings were exchanged, Hermione continued her story.

"So Uncle George was somewhat drunk, but he's a _very_ confident man, and he's also quite good at both mathematics and chemistry, and was determined to convince her he was right, and started the whole sequence of equations over again. He got a different result, which I'm fairly sure was because he was drunk, and the bar-tender insisted on running her own set of equations, which, of course, got a _third_ result. Well, then Uncle George _laughed _at her, and said her calculations weren't any better than his when he was drunk, which got her into a right temper.

"So she writes her office phone number down on her sheet of calculations, then stuffs it in his shirt, and tells him to check them when he's sober and call her when he's realized she's right, and storms out of the bar."

She was interrupted briefly as the door opened to admit Tracy Davis, Daphne Greengrass, and Blaise Zabini, who occupied the remaining available seats amidst an exchange of greetings, before allowing Hermione to continue her story.

"Uncle George hadn't been out much since he got his third Doctorate," Hermione said, "Or around single women he wasn't related to, and had no idea how to deal with what the woman had done, and he responded to the confusion by having a few more drinks, carefully following his second set of calculations. Of course, they were off by a factor of three, and we ended up having to carry him back to the hotel. The next afternoon, when he woke up and started sobering up, he checked the bartender's calculations, and found out that she'd been right, and was rather impressed. Unfortunately, when he called her, he found out she'd been fired from the bar for her loud argument with a customer, and storming out mid-shift.

"Uncle George felt terribly guilty, and asked her if it would interfere with her graduation plans. It turns out she was graduating at the end of the Summer anyways, but he still offered her a job working on his project after she graduated. I think he did it mostly out of a sense of obligation, and didn't expect her to accept, but she did, immediately. It turns out she'd looked Uncle George up after she got home that night, and he's something of a name in his fields of study."

Then Neville Longbottom and Ginevra Weasley arrived at the compartment, but unlike at the beginning of the summer, they were now all certainly too large to fit five people on each bench.

"Um," Hermione said, looking around at the full benches, brow furrowing as she tried to figure out what to do.

"I'll sit on my trunk," Neville said, lugging the large wooden construct to the edge of the compartment, placing it beneath the window and seating himself on it.

"And Ginevra can have my seat," Luna said, standing with a smile, then tugging the red-head over and pushing her gently down onto the bench.

"But where will you sit?" Ginny asked with concern.

"Here," Luna said brightly, and plopped herself down onto Harry Potter's lap.

Harry twitched, then jerked slightly, as though his body wished to do something that he was unwilling to allow it to, and his mouth hung slightly open as he attempted to figure out what to do with himself and the tiny blond that now rested on his lap. Hermione stared at Luna, more than a little shocked by the entirely unhesitant audacity of the girl, and that, for once, someone seemed to have managed to knock Harry off balance. Deciding that being off-guard for a few moments was a good thing for Harry to experience, Hermione placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, then smiled softly when he turned to look at her.

Harry relaxed a little when he saw her smile, but still felt terribly awkward for the entire trip to Hogwarts.

((()))

End Chapter 8

"The art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy's not coming, but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable."

-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 8, Section 11

Author's Note for Chap 8:

The recounting of the misadventure of George Granger being present in the final scene was a result of something I never really thought I'd do; changing story content due to fan feedback. However, as it did not detract from the story in any way, nor change anything that it should not have, and made sense for the character's involved, I'm fine with it. For those sending feedback, though, do *not* expect me to make a regular habit of it, as I am a firm believer that the characters in a story should drive said story, not what people reading the story wish would happen. The best of stories (for this sort of genre, at the least) are always driven by living, breathing characters who are as close to real as is possible, and though I do not achieve this standard as much as I would like, it is certainly what I strive for.

Finally, there will be only two or three more chapters to this story; the next chapter is almost finished, so there should be no more interruptions in posting schedule.


	10. Chapter 9

Revised AN: Some reviews have commented that George Granger seems an inappropriate character to so serious a piece, inducing a sort of mood whiplash. I actually considered taking him out when I was working on the revision; however, he adds something important to this fic, by broadening the range of characters and emotions that are experienced within. Not all life is grim and foreboding, even when one is in a depressing part of life, and his presence as a character helps reflect this.

((()))

(Old) Author's Note:

I have been, by and large trying to maintain a decent affiliation with cannon. Nowhere near directly concordant, because frankly, cannon is largely formed of bullshit. I think it's an interesting commentary on JKR's writing abilities that she managed to write a story with so many weaknesses, but that it was still compelling enough to be one of the most successful literary franchises ever.

Anyways, at this point, the fact that Harry was powerful enough at the end of third year in cannon to use a Patronus powerful enough to drive off 100+ Dementors, _without even being noticeably fatigued_, is going to start to matter. A lot. How this interacts with things such as Harry's barrier and other magical effects dealing mostly with kinetic energy: Bullets actually don't carry much kinetic energy, proportionately. A properly executed punch will carry more kinetic energy than anything but the most powerful personal firearm, it simply is nowhere near as focused, and fists are not as rigid as bullets. Kinetic energy is repeatedly, and easily, played with like a cheap toy in HP cannon, something you can expect to see me take to great practical application in this fic, and its eventual sequel. Getting back to the bullet/barrier thing, Harry's barrier is powered by the third most powerful wizard in Britain (after Dumbles and Tom), and can handle the pathetically small amounts of kinetic energy that small arms fire generates, probably indefinitely if you're not literally pinning him place and shooting him until it finally gives out.

Also, sick of everybody who writes these fics sticking Harry with the Hungarian Horntail every time, I pulled out a die and rolled randomly. And rolled the Hungarian Horntail. Go figure.

Finally, for those who are hoping/asking for updates, I update once a week, sometime within the 24-hour period known as Saturday, EST. This could mean ten minutes past midnight, or four PM.

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Chapter 9

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'Lo Harry,

_So, I'm out of rehabilitation and acclimatization. It's nice being able to run out and about again (and I've got to say, muggle clothing is a _lot_ more practical than robes), but I miss the pretty nurses (and a few of the less pretty ones who had clever tongues). Even though I get a modest stipend as someone with asylum, I've decided to hunt up a job, without all the psycho-whatever stuff and 'technology training' to fill my hours, life gets quite dull, quite fast._

I was rather disturbed to hear you asking why Hermione would kiss you; don't you know that's what boys and girls do at your age? James went for the smart ones, wouldn't surprise me if you did too. Heard about the Triwizard Tournament, you planning on competing?

-Sirius.

((()))

Harry listened silently and attentively as Headmistress McGonagall announced that that year's Quidditch games may be interrupted due to the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. The only part of the entire affair that interested him was making contact with Wizards and Witches from the continent, and feeling out what socio-political conditions in those nations were like. Aside from that, and the announcement of Amelia Bones as the new DADA Professor, little in the announcements at the opening feast interested him, and he instead listened to Hermione speak about her preparations for taking her NEWTs that year.

((()))

Harry stared silently at the middle-aged woman at the front of the classroom, his own body posture and expression utterly neutral as he evaluated her.

"You intend to attack me," Harry said abruptly, "Non-lethally, to test my abilities."

Amelia Bones expression only showed a hint of surprise before she simply continued to stare back at him.

"Don't." Harry said flatly.

Amelia continued to stare at him for several more long minutes, before finally speaking.

"I would like to know your abilities," She said, "But I can tell just by looking at you that you're well beyond where a fourth-year would need to be, so I won't. Be warned though, if I'm still here when you're a seventh year, I will test you whether you like it or not."

Harry nodded at her words, but let no other expression show.

"Send in the next one," Amelia said, and Harry left the classroom, nodding for the next student to enter.

Amelia had that student immobilized and silenced five seconds after the door closed.

((()))

The Goblet of Fire, unfortunately, did not go out after the third Champion's name was announced, something Harry would have paid little attention to, except that he immediately noticed something attempting to… _attach_ itself to his magic. Harry's eyes narrowed and he extended his own magical senses, and immediately picked up on the Goblet of Fire's magic attempting to somehow link with his. Harry did not know _why_ it was attempting to do so, nor did he _care_; he had no desire to let it do something to him that he had in no way, shape, or form requested.

Harry's narrowed eyes turned to slits, and he lashed out at the Goblet's encroaching magic with his own. The empty space in the Great Hall between Harry and the Goblet rang as though a gong had been struck, and a visible distortion in the air let off a small shockwave as the two magics clashed. Harry grunted as his magic was forced back by the powerful artifact, and a low growl began to work its way up his throat as he gathered himself for a counterattack. When Harry lashed out with every erg of magical energy he could marshal, he drew the attention of everyone in the Great Hall that hadn't already noticed the magical confrontation in progress.

Nearly everybody in the hall felt a static tingle wash across their exposed skin, and eyes widened Harry's magic slammed into the advancing tide of the Goblet's magic, the energies edging into the visible spectrum as they ground against each other. For a few seconds, Harry forced the Goblet's magic back, but the magical pressure from the artifact steadily increased, and began to overpower him. Harry's fists clenched, and tendons and veins bulged out in his neck as Harry upped his efforts, beginning to breathe heavily as he pushed more forcefully against the Goblet's magic.

The Goblet's magic slowed, but the tide continued to turn against Harry, and his facial expression shifted from intense concentration, to fierce focus, to enraged determination. Sweat began beading across his brow as the point of conflict closed to within a dozen feet of Harry, and he lurched to his feet, leaning into the struggle, mouth opening into a snarl as he fought the Goblet's magic. The tide of magic continued towards him, however, until it came within arm's reach.

"I _WON'T!_" Harry screamed, hurling his arms up and out barely halting the magic's advance.

"rrRRRRAAAAA**AAAAA!**" Harry screamed, the edge of conflict between him and the Goblet rapidly brightening into an intense glow, as he poured more and more effort into the battle, escalating as his own voice rose.

Harry's scream of defiance suddenly raised in pitch as something within him changed, and the energies his magical core had been devoting to his barrier suddenly were redirected to his battle with the Goblet. The wave-front of magic lurched away from Harry as his power output abruptly doubled, and he began to stalk forward towards the Goblet, roaring between each breath as he brutally forced the Goblet's magic back.

The Goblet, however, simply began to increase its magical output again, and equalized the flow inches short of its own physical edge. Harry clenched his teeth and snorted in rage, as sweat began to trickle down his face, mixing with blood from his scar.

"Stop it Harry!" Hermione shouted, running up towards him, "You're hurting yourself!"

"**No!**" Harry shouted back, his voice thick with magic, "**I will not be bound against my will!**"

The magical wave-front began to advance towards him again, and Harry snarled, growling deep in his throat, as he continued his advance, his entire body trembling with tension, his eyes beginning to faintly luminesce as magic continued to pour out of his body. Hermione attempted to continue her approach towards him, but was stymied by the force of magic emanating from the point of conflict. McGonagall, who had been trying to summon, banish, or transfigure the Goblet, switched to attempting to destroy it outright, but her spells were simply overwhelmed by the waves of magic washing across the hall from the point of contact.

Unnoticed by anyone else, Dobby appeared on the edge of the hall, and drank in the power rolling off of his master. The pedestal that the goblet rested on began to warp under the strain of the magic it was exposed to, and Harry's robes began disintegrating, revealing the Dragonhide he wore beneath it.

"I **WON'T!" **Harry shouted again, snatching his wand from his belt, and hurled a blasting curse at the enchanted cup, but it failed inches short of its target.

Harry returned his wand to its place at his belt, and palmed the shrunken sword strapped to the underside of his left hand, unshrinking it and raising it as he forced himself to continue advancing towards the Goblet. Fatigue began to scream in his muscles from the sheer amount of tension they'd been held under, but he ignored it and pressed on, furious gaze fixed on the magical artifact that sought to bind him.

The wavefront, held roughly in place between the Goblet's greater magic force and Harry's continued advance, began to slip back towards Harry as he magically exhausted himself fighting against the millennia old artifact. Sensing his body and magic beginning to give out on him, Harry forced himself into one last burst of motion, lashing out at the Goblet with his sword. Fatigue made his blow clumsy, but he still managed to catch the top of the flaming cup at a shallow angle, the edge of his sword digging into the goblet and knocking it from its pedestal.

Upon the instant that the goblet lost contact with the pedestal, the stone melted into a puddle of slate-gray goo. Exhaustion overcame Harry, and the inertia of his swing threw him off balance, and he fell to the floor, striking it a moment after the goblet bounced off of the floor, and passing out.

The magical wave-front collapsed, and the Great Hall, which had been filled with the sounds of the competing magics and Harry's voice, was abruptly silent, except for Hermione Granger rushing to the collapsed Harry and dragging him away from the spreading puddle of molten stone.

Rolling along its side, the Goblet of Fire spat out a piece of parchment before its flames abruptly died. Minerva McGonagall swiftly made her way to where the Goblet lay, inspecting it carefully, and noting the small notch in its rim, and that the top half of Harry's blade was slowly melting, before picking up the slip of parchment and reading the name on it aloud.

"Harry Potter."

((()))

Some hours later, Harry woke up in the infirmary, under Madam Pomfrey's watchful eye. The first thing he did upon awakening was test his magic, finding it drained, but not critically so, and replenishing steadily. The second thing he did was 'feel' around magically, to see if he had managed to ward off the Goblet's attempt to enchant him somehow. He found a strong magical bond binding him to what he knew must be the Goblet, as it was the same magic that he had fought earlier.

Rage coursed through his body, and he jerked upright, then got off the bed. Pomfrey moved in front of him, a stern rebuke on his lips, but then she caught his eyes, and remembered more than a few conversations she had had with McGonagall about the young Potter.

"Let me make something clear, Mister Potter," She said, "If I have you in here again for magical exhaustion before the end of the week, I will be dosing you with sleeping potions until I'm satisfied you've recovered sufficiently. Do you understand me?"

Harry scowled fiercely, but nodded, and the Mediwitch stepped out of his way. Harry stormed out of the infirmary, and nearly ran smack into a drowsing Hermione. She came fully awake with a jerk, and Harry nearly pulled his knife on her when she immediately lunged at him, wrapping him in a tight, desperate hug. For a long, long moment, Harry stood there, trembling in a mixture of rage and something else.

Then he felt hot, wet tears on his shoulder, and something cracked inside, and tears came to his own eyes.

"Oh _Harry,_" Hermione whispered, "I thought it was going to _kill_ you, you were all red, and shaking, and then _there was blood_¸ and, and…"

She trailed off as Harry wrapped his arms around her, clinging desperately to the older girl, shaking now with something other than rage.

"It's happened again," He said, and for the first time ever, Hermione heard _fear_ in the voice of Harry Potter, "Something's taking control from me, and I don't even know what it is…"

They stood there together, for a long time, Hermione clutching Harry desperately out of fear for her friend, Harry holding Hermione tightly because of fear for loss of control, and, buried deeply within him, a desperate loneliness. Silent tears rolled down Harry's face as he trembled slightly in Hermione's grasp; muffled sobs escaped from Hermione as she buried her face in his shoulder.

It was nearly a quarter hour before they eventually composed themselves, and Hermione took Harry's hand in hers, and led him to the Headmistress' office. His grip on her hand was painfully tight, but she did not complain; she knew he needed the reassurance, and did not mind the reminder of his continued presence herself. When they entered McGonagall's office, they were met with mixed reactions.

Cedric Diggory looked at Harry with concern. Fleur Delacour looked at him with inquisitive eyes, Viktor Krum was staring at him with an almost entirely blank gaze, but Harry could see a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Madam Maxim looked at him with demanding eyes; it was not difficult to tell she was determined to pull the truth of what had happened with the Goblet out of him. Minerva McGonagall was looking at him with clear concern in her eyes, which made Harry's chest feel just a little bit warmer. Amelia Bones bore a stern but somewhat concerned expression. Bartemius Crouch was a cold fish.

"You!" Igor Karkaroff shouted, enraged, leaping to his feet and striding menacingly towards Harry.

Harry's wand was in his hand, and he was positioned between Hermione and the large man before he had completed his second step.

"Sit _down_ Igor," McGonagall snapped in a harsh tone of command, "I have enough trouble over this fiasco without having to peel you off of the walls when Mister Potter is finished with you."

Karkaroff turned to face McGonagall, outrage burning in his eyes.

"You think," He said, puffing himself up to loom over the seated Headmistress, "This little snot could-"

"No," Harry cut across the older man's voice like sharp iron, "She _knows_ what would happen if we fought. I've taken down a Troll, a Basilisk, a head Auror, and a so-called 'dark lord' twice, one who used to be your master.. I'm fourteen, Mister Karkaroff. How does your tally compare?"

"I've been dueling since before you were born, _boy_," Karkaroff ground out, glaring at the teenager,

"You're no match for me."

"Then challenge me to a duel," Harry said coolly, "To be fought in front of the entire school. If you win, I'll apologize to you for whatever slight I may have given. If I win, you surrender your position as Headmaster of Durmstrang to me."

Karkaroff's jaw dropped in shock at the audacity of Harry's terms, and McGonagall snorted slightly in wry amusement, before interrupting the two's argument.

"Unfortunately, Mister Potter," She said, "That is not currently possible, as you are entered into the Tournament under the name of another school. Regardless, having Mister Potter crush Igor's ego will accomplish little just now. I must ask, Mister Potter, as a matter of form, if you somehow managed to place your name within the Goblet?"

Harry shook his head.

"In that case," McGonagall continued, "We appear to have someone of considerable magical ability acting to either take Harry's life, or fulfill some arcane machination. Specifically, by interfering with the Tri-wizard Tournament, and doing so in such a way to force a binding magical contract on someone unwilling. We must discover who is responsible for this."

"Bah," Karkaroff said, turning his back to Harry as he faced McGonagall, "There is no need for conspiracy theories; it is clear the boy simply entered himself. He is hardly unique amongst little boys who think more of themselves than they ought, and-

Whatever else Karkaroff was going to say was cut off by Harry silencing him, then binding the man in place with conjured ropes, and levitating him to his chair. Every man and woman in the room not a student or staff member of Hogwarts stared at Harry, most with some degree of shock or surprise. Harry silently summoned a pair of chairs for Hermione and himself to sit down in, and as he sat, became aware of the fact that Hermione still had not released his other hand, but decided not to comment on it.

"Thank you Harry," McGonagall said, smiling at him gently before turning to the others in her office, "I hope we can now have a conversation as reasonable adults. Can anyone think of someone within the Tournament officials or the delegations from either schools that would have a motive to do something like this?"

Harry and Hermione sat silently as the meeting progressed, simply observing, until Harry, still fatigued from his over-exertion early that evening, fell asleep. His head ended up resting on Hermione's shoulder, who made _no_ complaint, and eventually drifted off herself.

((()))

The morning after the selection of the champions, Hermione woke well before Harry. After dressing quickly, she left a note on the door of his dorm for him, then went and assembled the rest of their usual study group as quickly as she could at breakfast, and drew them together in the library. Once they were all assembled, and settled, she addressed them quietly, but firmly.

"All right, everyone," She said, "Who among you believes, for certain, that Harry put his name in the Goblet?"

None of them raised their hands, and Blaise Zabini even went so far as to snort dismissively.

"And who believes for sure he _didn't_ do it?" Hermione asked.

Every member of the group raised their hand, and Hermione smiled.

"Good," She said, "Now, Harry's not going to ask, of course, but he's going to need every bit of support in this to get through that we can give him, who's with me?"

Neville, Luna, Ginny, Susan, and Hannah all raised their hands, but Daphne, Tracy, and Blaise just stared at her. She started to frown at them, but was cut off by Blaise speaking.

"You don't seriously believe he isn't going to win this, and make it look stupidly easy, completely without our help, do you?" He asked.

"Of course he's going to win it," Hermione said dismissively, "So long as he actually decides he wants to compete, but he needs to know that his friends _believe_ him and _support_ him through it all, and are helping him as we're able."

"Which, of course," Daphne said with a smirk, "Means researching everything we can about the Tournament, right?"

"Of course," Hermione said, nodding, "Now who's with me?"

The thee Slytherin's raised their hands as well.

"Right," Hermione said, smiling again now, "I left a note telling Harry to come meet us down here when he gets up, in the meantime, we should start looking in the history section…"

((()))

McGonagall sighed, leaning back and rubbing her temples as she sat down at her office the next morning. Aside from Harry, every last person involved in the last night's meeting had been up far too late, and though her headache was nowhere near as fierce as it head been before she went to her bed for six hours of sleep, it was still faintly present, and stress was likely to bring it back to full strength quickly.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come," McGonagall said just loudly enough to be heard clearly through the door.

The door opened, and Madam Maxime entered, surprisingly quietly for one of her size. McGonagall deftly transfigured one of the chairs in the office to be of a more suitable size for the half-giant, who nodded her thanks, and gracefully seated herself.

"Hardly the opening I would have preferred," Maxime said, "Or anyone at all, I expect."

"Indeed," McGonagall said, sighing again, "I assume there was something in particular you wished to discuss?"

"Yes," Maxime said, "I wished to inquire as to why you place so much trust in, and allow so much liberty to, a fourteen year old boy."

McGonagall leaned back in her chair, and looked Maxime up and down, reading her body language carefully before answering.

"Do you recall Miss Granger?" She asked, "The girl who sat next to him in here last night, didn't say a word during the entire fight?"

"Yes," Maxime said, nodding.

"They are classmates," McGonagall said, "In his first two months of school, in his first year, Harry saved her life by attacking, and killing, a troll that had been let into the school by a possessed teacher.

Maxime's eyes widened.

"That little stick of a boy?" She said, "_How?_"

"He stuck a knife through its eye, into its brain," McGonagall replied, "And that wasn't the last time he saved a student's life, in spite of the staff's incompetence. There is a reason that I have replaced Albus."

Maxime thought quietly about that for some time before speaking again.

"Has he ever lied to you?" She asked.

"He has withheld truth from me before," McGonagall said, "But never lied."

Maxime nodded slowly, before changing the subject.

"Igor is furious about what Potter did to him," Maxime said, "And that you allowed him to do it, and made no move to punish him."

McGonagall snorted derisively.

"If he thinks he can call a man a liar to his face, and mock him without getting a response," McGonagall said, "He is fooling only himself. Harry Potter has been collectively shat upon by almost every authority figure he has ever known, including for a brief time myself. When I next see Karkaroff I will inform him he is welcome to attempt to discipline Harry himself. I will also warn Harry of this."

"Will you truly not punish Harry at all?" Maxime asked.

"Oh," McGonagall said, waving her hand dismissively, "I will dock him house points when I speak to him in private next, to make the point that there is _some_ consequence to some behavior, but he will not care about house points. I will also give him an honest warning about making enemies unnecessarily, and acting impulsively out of anger, which he may listen to, but the purpose of discipline is to modify behavior, and I will _not_ try to force behavioral change on that young man. He is incredibly restrained considering his life experiences, and has plainly stated he does not wish to become a killer so young. I do not wish to push him into becoming such any earlier than is absolutely necessary."

"You speak as though him becoming a killer is an inevitability," Maxime said sharply.

"It very nearly is," McGonagall said seriously, "Voldemort is not entirely dead, and there was a prophecy about him and Harry. I put little stock in divination myself, and Harry does not seem to hold it in much regard either, but Voldemort certainly does, and he will be after Harry until he is permanently destroyed. I would like to believe that that burden will not end up falling to Harry, but the Ministry here in England is falling further and further into incompetency and corruption, and I cannot think of any independent groups with both the means and the will to do so."

"Is it really so bad, here in Britain?" Maxime asked, her voice less sharp now.

McGonagall nodded gravely.

"Pureblood supremacists are attempting to take over the nation again, and the Ministry is almost hopelessly corrupt." McGonagall said, "It is, quite frankly, a near-terminal situation. The only reason that I hold significant hope for the future of our nation, is because Hogwarts is still the premiere magical educational institution in Britain, and I can use it to shape our future generation of leaders. Draco Malfoy, for example, has had the fact that his blood-line grants him no innate superiority forcibly placed in front of his eyes by Miss Granger's overwhelming academic performance as a Muggle-born, and Mister Potter's superior grasp of practical magic. As he no longer has had the benefit of corrupt authority figures shielding him from the consequences of his actions towards others, he has been forced to learn. He was an insufferable bully when he first arrived here, but now has become a studious, somewhat withdrawn student. It is not all the change I would like, but it is only his fourth year."

"Is there anything I should be particularly wary of for this tournament?" Maxime asked cautiously.

McGonagall thought for a moment, then shook her head.

"You, personally, would possibly be the subject of some discrimination, but you are simply too skilled with a wand, not to mention too durable, to be in danger. The bigots you will run into within my school are under quite firm control, by and large, and will probably treat any non-purebloods with scorn, but I have rather thoroughly beaten the idea of attacking mixed-bloods outright out of them. You are the only member of your delegation who clearly has not entirely human ancestry, so your students should not be in any danger. I would not recommend allowing them off of school grounds, however."

Maxime nodded, before standing.

"Thank you for the warning, Minerva," She said, "It is time for me to return to my students, however."

"You're welcome," McGonagall said, managing a small smile for the enormous woman before she departed.

((()))

When Harry arrived at the library, he was slightly surprised to find that Hermione had assembled their entire study group; her note had said to come and meet 'me' in the library. Still, he moved to the study table they were occupying, and joined them. He made no effort to mask his approach, and as he neared, Hermione noticed him, and turned his way, looking him up and down with deep concern in his eyes.

"How are you Harry?" she asked softly as he sat down next to her, and Harry could feel the eyes of the rest of the group on him.

A violent struggle sparked within Harry, the desire to confide in Hermione, draw comfort from her, fighting against the need to remain strong, in control, in front of others, both powerful, forceful desires, driven by deep-seated and intense emotion. His jaw clenched as he fought with himself, and that was the only sign Hermione needed to reach over and pull him into a tight hug. With his face buried in her bushy hair, and his ribcage feeling the forceful expression of Hermione's concern and affection, something in Harry cracked open, just a little bit more, and he began to speak.

"I don't _want_ to be controlled," He said huskily into Hermione's hair, so quietly it was only due to the near-total lack of other sound in library that the others at the table could hear him.

Eventually, when it became clear he did not intend to say anything further, Hermione spoke.

"We'll help you either break free from this, or win," Hermione said, "You _won't _have to fight this alone."

Over Harry's shoulder, she shot everyone a meaningful stare; it was Hannah and Susan who understood her intent first.

"We'll all help," Hannah said softly, and Susan nodded, then chimed in with an 'mm-hm' when she realized he couldn't see that.

The rest of the students at the table voiced their support, and Hermione was happy to feel Harry become slightly less tense in her arms.

((()))

"Gabrielle!" Fleur cried with delight, bending over to catch her sister in a hug as the smaller blond rushed across the magically expanded interior of the Beauxbaton carriage to embrace her elder sister.

The blonde did not respond with words, instead wrapping her arms and legs around Fleur to express her happiness via compressive force, causing Fleur to break into a gasping laugh as it became difficult for her to breathe.

"I did not know you were coming!" Fleur said when she could speak through her laughter.

Gabrielle looked up at her sister, smiling impishly.

"Of course you didn't," She said, "It was a _secret_."

"Of course," Fleur said, smiling back at her sister, "Was there a _plan_ to go with this secret visit, or is it simply a visit that was a secret?"

"No plans!" Gabrielle said cheerfully, "I will be here to watch your first task tomorrow, but for today, we can do anything!"

"Well then," Fleur said, "Let me show you around the school and grounds."

((()))

It did not take Harry long to discover the Dragons that were being prepared for the first task. It had taken him even less time to determine how to handle the task; whatever in specific he had to accomplish, removing the Dragon as a factor, he expected, would make whatever else the task consisted of simple. If it involved anything other than defeating the Dragon in the first place.

If he was willing to go to extremes, he could, he knew, send Dobby to acquire modern anti-tank penetration weapons, but nothing less than that, or heavy industrial machinery, that he had found, would be capable of penetrating the hide of mature adult Dragons. He was wearing such armor himself. Dragon hide was, if anything, even more spell resistant than it was resistant to physical damage, but Harry knew, and had tested to make sure against even that ridiculous improbability, that Dragon-hide was not immune to getting _wet_.

((()))

"There is a _squid_ in the lake?" Gabrielle asked, her voice torn between wonder and distaste.

"Yes," Fleur said, "It is very friendly though, and sometimes plays with the students."

"Can we see it?" Gabrielle asked, excitement overcoming her distaste

"Yes," Fleur said, "If we wait for it to show itself, which may take some time."

"That's okay," Gabrielle said excitedly, "We can walk along the lake shore while we watch!"

Fleur smiled at her sister, and shortened her gait to allow the cheerful girl to easily keep up with her as they began a slow circuit of the lake, speaking of home, Gabrielle's schooling, and Fleur's experiences at Hogwarts thus far. It was early in the day yet, and most of the Hogwarts students were in classes, but as they progressed around the lake, they soon found themselves overtaken by a young man jogging around the perimeter of the lake, which Fleur immediately identified as Harry Potter. Gabrielle looked at him curiously as he jogged past them, but did not interrupt the thread of conversation they were carrying.

Shortly after he lapped them, the Squid surfaced, and they stopped to sit on a nearby rock, and watch it move about the surface of the lake. They were still sitting there when Potter passed them the second time, which raised Gabrielle's curiosity again, and when they were walking back, and he passed them for the third time, she called out to him.

"Excuse me!" She said, "Why are you running around the lake?"

"Sorry, can't talk now," He called over his shoulder, his breathing shortening his words, as he continued to run past them.

"Well," said Gabrielle, who only partially understood his words, as her English was not that strong, pouting slightly, "That was rude."

"Perhaps," Fleur said diplomatically, "That was Harry Potter. He is a very driven young man, and may have been doing something important."

"How is running important?" Gabrielle asked, her pout deepening for a moment, but she let the matter drop.

The matter probably would not have come up again, but due to his faster pace, Harry Potter ended up leaving the lake shore to head back to the castle at the same time they did, and approached them.

"My apologies for the short response earlier," He said, speaking between deep, carefully-controlled breaths, "I was taking my final lap, and could not stop without significantly curtailing my exercise regime."

"'Exercise regime'?" Gabrielle asked, not understanding the English word.

"_Exercise regime_," Fleur said in French, before switching back to English, "To keep his body fit."

"Why do you exercise for?" Gabrielle asked Harry, undecided between pouting at his earlier bruskness, and curiosity.

"I have been forced to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Harry replied, "I intend to be in peak physical condition for the tasks, to optimize my chances at survival."

Gabrielle looked helplessly at her older sister as Harry used several English words that she was unfamiliar with, and Fleur quickly translated.

"Good luck with the tournament, Harry Potter!" Gabrielle said once she understood.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the girl.

"I see my reputation has preceded me once again," Harry said, "You are Miss…?"

"Gabrielle Delacour," Fleur put in, "She is my little sister."

"Well then, Miss Delacour," Harry said as they neared the entrance to the castle, "It was nice meeting you, but I must now be off to class."

"Hey!" Gabrielle said, "It's not nice to brush someone off twice!"

Harry stopped for a moment and considered.

"My apologies, Miss Delacour," He said, "I really must go now, but if you wish to speak with me, I will set aside a time in the future that we may do so."

"Okay," Gabrielle said, "But you'd better keep your word!"

"Of course, Miss Delacour," Harry said, bowing slightly in her direction, and smiling in spite of himself, "I will see you later."

And with that, he left.

"What do you think of him, Gabrielle?" Fleur asked.

"I don't know," Gabrielle said, "That's why I want to talk to him again later, silly."

((()))

The next day, Harry listened quietly to the roars of the Dragons, and the crowd, as the other three Champions fought their Dragons. He fingered the model of the Hungarian Horntail in his hands thoughtfully as he did so, wondering if acquiring the most dangerous Dragon to face had been mere coincidence, or it was a further result of whoever had forced him to participate in the Tournament. He intended to investigate once the task was completed, but did not expect to find anything useful.

"Harry Potter, please enter the arena," Came Ludo Bagman's voice, and Harry turned to the tent's exit.

((()))

Harry Potter strode into the arena, completely ignoring the crowds who were cheering, screaming, booing, or simply watching. Hermione Granger, sitting in the front row of the stands, was torn between fear for, and pride in, her friend, who gave absolutely no sign he so much as aware of the _existence_ of something called 'fear,' much less experiencing it. Across the arena from where Harry had entered, the Hungarian Horntail stood, massive, imposing, protective over its eggs.

Harry drew his wand and strode purposefully towards it, eyes locked with the creature's own. The Dragon roared, its massive vocal cords and lungs drowning out the competing roar of the crowd; Harry did not react in any visible way, but the crowd became silent. Then the Dragon breathed deeply, a long, powerful inhalation that the crowd now recognized as a sign of impending fire. In the silence of the moment between inhalation and exhalation, Harry Potter's wand snapped through a decisive set of movements, and he spoke a single spell.

"_Aguamenti,"_ Harry said, his tone of voice more appropriate to a polite discussion over tea, than a confrontation with a Dragon.

The Dragon's fire burst forth as the creature exhaled, but the stream of fire was as nothing before the massive geyser of water that erupted from Harry's wand, obliterating the flames in a brief hiss of steam.

The flames were only the beginning, however; the torrent of water slammed into the Dragon's head, blasting it out of the way with a force that would have crushed a lesser creature. Harry lowered his aim slightly, striding forward, his pace unaltered as magic flippantly defied physics, preventing him from feeling any kind of reciprocal force to the intense amount of kinetic energy expressed in the water erupting from his wand.

The torrent struck the Dragon's center of mass, and it was blasted off of its nest, sent tumbling back against the wall of the arena, magical wards crackling visibly as they contained the enormous creature. Harry maintained the flow as he strode up the lip of the nest, then sloshed down into it, getting soaked up to his knees in the flooded depression as he reached down with his free hand, and scooped up the egg. Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the water-conjuring spell ended, as Harry cut off the flow of magic to his wand.

He gestured with his wand again, and silently cast a powerful freezing charm, locking the Dragon in a thick icy prison as it recovered from his bombardment of water. The ice held the Dragon for less than half a minute, but by the time it broke free, he had already stepped off of the field.

((()))

It took Hermione an hour to find Harry after the first task; nobody had seen him since he walked out of the arena, and she was genuinely worried that he might have done something stupidly drastic. She found him hiding in the rafters of the Owlery (which, oddly enough, seemed cleaner than she ever remembered it being before), and honestly was not entirely sure how she had noticed him, concealed as he was in the deep shadows. It took her another five minutes to work up the courage to climb up after him; she wasn't afraid of heights per-se, but heights without adequate safety precautions she considered a quite reasonable fear. Five more minutes past that, to get up to where he'd secreted herself, and he finally spoke to her, though she knew he'd been aware of her since the moment she'd entered the Owlery.

"I've decided to change my tactics," He said, and his tone was only a parody of its usual calm, courteous smoothness, like a boat that while its deck was level, had its prow and stern being pulled in opposing directions below the water level, and carried tension that while not obvious, had the potential to tear it completely apart.

"I'm going to aim for being so intimidating that only the foolish or truly powerful will dare try to attack me," He continued, "It all but guarantees I will face foes sooner or later, but they should be few and far between."

He sounded sick to Hermione, like a man already fighting Leukemia who had just been diagnosed with an advanced brain tumor, and was announcing his plan to fight it by having parts of his brain surgically extracted. A man who was determined not to show weakness under any circumstances. Hermione reached out to lay a hand on his knee; sitting further down the rafter, there wasn't much else she could easily do in the way of physical contact, and she didn't trust her balance much.

"It worked on Draco Malfoy," Harry continued, his voice wobbling slightly, before stabilizing into almost exactly his normal tone in a display of emotional control that frankly terrified Hermione, "And has worked at least temporarily on his father. It won't work on Voldemort, when he comes back to try to kill me again, but he was going to come anyways."

Hermione fidgeted as Harry fell silent again, her urge to hold him fighting against her inability to believe she could cross the distance between them without falling to the stone floor of the Owlery a dozen feet below them.

"Light," Harry whispered, the fear finally clear in his voice, "I beat the Dragon, but I can _still_ feel it's magic bound to mine, forcing me, _controlling me_. I'm _still_ not strong enough. Will I ever be?"

Hermione nervously scooted forward a little, so that she could lay her other hand on Harry's shoulder, though now she was balancing by pressing lightly against his shoulder and knee. Her breathing and heart-rate both picked up, partially in response to her physical fear, partially in response to fear for Harry, as she saw him coming apart at the seams, worse than he had even two years before at Christmas.

"I'd been thinking about settling down in Antarctica after I kill Voldemort for good," Harry said, then his voice abruptly became breathless and desperate, "_I don't want to be alone_," And just as abruptly became clear, though small, so very small, and a terror of rejection that Hermione knew all too well mixed with it, "Please, come with me."

Hermione froze in place for a moment, a million reasons why she shouldn't go live in Antarctica (though she was certain it would be an educational experience,) why _he _shouldn't go live in Antarctica (he was isolated enough as it was), running through her head, and warring with a response that was both natural, and now strongly ingrained habit, to desperately embrace and hug him in his moment of crippling vulnerability, pain, and fear. Unable to tell him she would join him in a mad, half-cracked scheme born and offered out of a desperate need to escape that which tormented him, but even less able to reject his offer, and by proxy in his own eyes, _him_, her heart forced her mind to find another solution.

Hermione Granger yanked out her wand, pushed Harry's knees apart, scooted herself forward, used sticking charms to hold her knees in place on either side of the beam, then lurched forward and pulled him into a crushing hug as her torso fell on top of his.

"Harry James Potter," She whispered fiercely into his ear as her head came to rest alongside his, "I will never, _ever_, let you be alone."

And then he broke down and cried, for once nothing more than the boy he should have been able to be eight years ago, and if Hermione couldn't solve his problems for him, protect him from the world at large, she could hold him while he cried.

So she did.

((()))

"There is no instance of a country having benefited from prolonged warfare."

-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 2, Section 6.

((()))

End Chapter 9

((()))

(Old) Author's Note:

Hooo... Getting this posted was an _adventure_. Our internet went down this afternoon at home. My Beta, who I am now roommate with, decided at two AM that we were going to take a trip to campus to post it. We got to the lab, he logged on (I'm not a student anymore), and Firefox decided to hate him. Now, he's just gotten his masters in CS, and is starting his Doctorate this semester. So when I say it decided to hate on him, it took some *serious* hating in order to slow him down.

This computer (which I'm addending my author's note on before I post it as we speak), decided that it couldn't run Firefox, because of something like it was running on a different computer that he'd remote-logged into from work on Wednesday. Yeah, I have no idea. So he whips open the command terminal for Fedora (which is this computer's OS), and starts doing things that I, of course, being only marginally Linux-literate, can hardly make heads or tails of. Wipes out the recognized host list, adds whatever the hell he wants to it, rages against the incompetent Campus core IT, and eventually manages to convince the server for some place or another important to let him in. Then he starts trying to kill the firefox process, so he can activate it on this computer. About twenty minutes have passed.

That's only the beginning. He starts killing processes, I'm not sure by what parameters he was selecting them, but at least one them was Firefox (I think), but after he kills one, every window dies, the screen shows a blue background, with what looks like a window desperately trying to open itself, but dying immediately every time, then trying again, open/close so fast it's like a strobe light. So we hard shut down, then boot the computer back up, log on...

And Firefox won't work, because it's running on another computer.

**RAEG!**

So, he gets into a terminal again, remote logs into three or four different computers to try to remote-run Firefox on _them_, before getting back to the server he logged onto in the first place. Then he starts randomly killing processes. Randomly, as in 'this window I am typing in is missing part of the stuff that is supposed to be around the edge, and we don't know where it's gone.' That kind of randomly. Eventually, he decides to have a look into this computer's Firefox folder, and see if anything there will tell us what the hell is going on. No go.

So, in order to vent frustration, he deletes it. 'It' being the Firefox folder. Firefox then happily starts, and runs properly for us.

You heard me right. I have no _idea_ how the IT department on this campus managed to screw up these computers so badly that you need to _delete_ Firefox in order to _run _it, and I do _not_ want to see what will happen to the _next_ person that tries to use this computer, but hey, now you get your regularly scheduled chapter of Brutal Harry, at the low, low cost of a run to the campus computer labs between 2 and 4 AM, and several sanity points on the part of my Beta!

The moral of the story: When a program doesn't want to run for you, delete it, and it'll run _just fine_. We now return you to your regularly scheduled Author's Note...

(Author breaks down into hysterical laughter.)

On Gold and Harry's income. Gold is currently tanking something like 1,878 US $ per _ounce_; lead costs about 1.05 US $ per _pound_. Gold is measured by a different system of ounces than the regular pound is, it converts to 14.58 troy ounces in a regular pound. Add in a tiny amount of expended money for water, and the heat to get it boiling (the mechanism I'm using for turning lead to gold with the stone), and you've got maybe 1.10 US $ to 26,292 US $ cost/sale price. That's a return of _2,391_ _dollars_ for every dollar spent. According to Wikipedia, in 2008 2,260 tonnes of gold were mined. If Harry sells one tonne (2,204.62 pounds when converted from metric), that nets him 60,365,229 US $, and he's only adding 1/20th of a percent to the world's gold supply. That's sixty _million_ US Dollars. If Harry is spreading that gold in small sales to different buyers all over the world through Dobby, it will have at best, a miniscule effect on the world's gold market, especially since 40% of the world's annual gold production goes to investment, IE, stored for its inferred value, meaning we've got decades of 40% of the world's gold supply just being stored away. One metric ton is not a particularly noticeable amount next to that. I hope this answers some reviewers concerns about flooding the gold market, or people noticing a new supplier suddenly popping up. If he was selling it all in one place, or all in a short period of time, he probably would attract attention. As is, however, not really much of a threat.

Revised AN: Gold was only worth about 1/4th or 1/5th as much back in the mid nineties; Harry would still have so much money coming in that it would be difficult to get it all banked without drawing attention.

Harry selling one tonne of gold over the course of a year was a decision he arbitrarily made to try to minimize his profile while still amassing an enormous amount of cash. If Harry wanted, he could become much more wealthy, very quickly at the cost of flooding, and collapsing, the world gold market. As several other reviewers pointed out, there is also the concern of how Harry could transfer that money to banks, or other useable forms without drawing the attentions of tax agents, etc. Rather simply put, unless there's a reason to suspect illegal activity, your banking records are private in most modern, free nations, at least technically. Governments keep track of financial records based on your earned income, not sale of personal property in other nations. Without just cause, a government is not allowed to demand your bank give them a look at your account, at least technically. _All_ of Harry's income is earned by sale of personal property in other nations, and thusly there is no mechanism to draw red flags from how he is earning. All of his deposits are mailed by Dobby to banks in moderate sizes at semi-regular intervals, mailing to different branches of the same banks so as not to draw the interest of particular tellers; thus, no reason for a particular staffer to note he is up to something.

Further, Harry is not notably spending large sums of money, as the only substantial change in his domestic expenditures is having Dobby regularly purchases large lumps of lead. Admittedly, Harry could still run into trouble with simply the sheer _size_ of his bank accounts, but he's smart enough to hold cash reserves rather than risk being noticed, so figure he's actually holding something like 8 million in banks just now, divided amongst 16 or more banks, in an equal number of accounts. A half million dollars isn't likely enough cause, especially when accumulated over the course of a year and the account lists that account statements are to be mailed to "Harry James Potter, Lord Black," to cause a banker to call in a legal review agent, though admittedly there is still a slim possibility. For the purposes of this fic, it's fairly easy to assume it simply did not happen.

On top of all this, the things that Harry is more interested in, such as a personal island, weaponry, Dragonhide armor, can all readily, and most likely, _more_ readily, be bought with gold directly, rather than currency exchange. Once Harry acquired his island, he had a place easily ready to store his personal wealth that has not yet been converted to gold, and for Dobby to work the lead-gold conversion process. After he's had the time to bone up on the legalities involved and etc, you can expect Harry to form a company, and start selling gold openly, shipping it off of his island in bulk, as a less efficient, but higher bulk, way of accumulating wealth, in a way that is transparently legal, and gives him a passable story for the origin of his wealth.

And nothing says his gold _production_ abilities are limited to what he's _selling_.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

Author's Note: Either the shortest, or second shortest chapter of the fic. Have your youtube-fu ready, I've put in, or at least tried to put in, links for music appropriate to the Yule Ball.

((()))

"Harry, Harry!" Called a young voice that took Harry a moment to recognize.

"Yes, Miss Delacour?" Harry said, turning to face the small blonde, who was running down the corridor towards him, her elder sister approaching behind her at a more sedate pace.

Hermione and the rest of Harry's study group stopped to watch curiously, none of them having met or spoken with either of the Delacour girls before (though Hermione had been around Fleur once or twice).

"Harry," Gabrielle said, slightly breathless due to a combination of excitement and having run to catch up with the older boy, "I have just heard that there will be a Ball over Christmastime, and have decided to call in that little rudeness debt you owe me. You must take me to the ball!"

Harry had absolutely no idea how to respond to the blonde's declaration. He stared down at the smaller girl in confusion for some time, not even vaguely certain what to make of the girl's request/demand. After he did not respond for some time, her excited smile began to change to a confused expression as well.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" She asked.

When Harry didn't respond for another moment, Hermione stepped forward, looked the young blonde girl up and down, then Harry, before speaking.

"That sounds like an _excellent_ idea," Hermione said, "Seeing as Harry owes you something, apparently."

Harry and Gabrielle both looked at Hermione in confusion.

"Now," Hermione said, carefully taking Harry by the shoulder and tugging him away, "I'm sure you can work the details out later, but we were just heading towards a study session, and I will have to arrange a few things, such as teaching Harry how to dance. Miss Delacour, could we arrange for you and Harry to speak of this again in say, three days time to handle the details?"

Gabrielle nodded, excitement overtaking confusion again, and Hermione smiled at the younger girl.

"Very well then," She said, "I must warn you that something may come up preventing Harry from attending, but if not, I will see to it that he's in tip-top shape to escort you to the Ball. Good day!"

Hermione carefully guided Harry, who was shooting her confused looks, down the hall, onward towards the library, and the rest of their friends fell in with them as they progressed.

"_Who was she?_" Gabrielle asked her elder sister in French.

"_Hermione Granger,"_ Fleur said, _"A very intelligent young woman, who is rarely seen at Hogwarts outside of Harry's presence. She is something like a big sister to him, I think."_

"_I like her,"_ Gabrielle said, _"She's very polite."_

((()))

Later that evening, when the girls in Harry and Hermione's study group were all alone, Hermione was receiving more than a few unpleasant stares.

"What were you _thinking?_" Ginny hissed quietly, "Setting him up with an eight year-old girl?"

"I was thinking," Hermione replied evenly, "That Harry never would have asked any girl to go to the ball with him on a date, and would either have skipped out altogether, or asked myself because he wouldn't feel comfortable with anyone else, or McGonagall if he's become aware enough of social romantic contexts to try to avoid holding any."

"_McGonagall?_" Hannah Abbot asked with wide eyes.

"Of course," Luna said, nodding, "Hermione and the Headmistress are the only people Harry really trusts here at Hogwarts, even if he _distrusts_ the lot of us less than everyone else. The only reason Harry didn't do anything forceful when I sat on his lap on the train, was because Hermione was amused, not worried, and he doesn't perceive me as a physical threat. He'd never ask me, or any of the rest of us girls, to the ball."

"This way, however," Hermione said, smiling, "He _will_ be there, nobody will start any nasty rumors about him being involved with one of the rest of us, and we can _all_ ask him for a dance. Or Neville." Hermione turned to smile at Hannah Abbot as she mentioned the Longbottom boy, who blushed slightly.

The other girls all smiled.

((()))

((()))

"You wanted to see me, Headmistress McGonagall?" Harry said, stepping into the woman's office.

"Yes, Harry," McGonagall said, gesturing for Harry to seat himself, "I wish to have words with you about the second task. Have you figured out the clue?"

Harry nodded as he seated himself.

"The rules, of course, restrict me from telling you too much," McGonagall said, "I will, however, tell you that your 'precious thing' will be, despite its apparent danger, be protected by three layers of passive protection, and both Tournament staff and locals will be on hand to ensure that nothing untoward happens. I, personally, do not approve of the task regardless, but the rest of the judges over-ruled me."

Harry sat silently, considering.

"You're telling me these things because you believe I'm going to be upset by what I discover in the lake."

"Yes," McGonagall said, "I'm not happy about it either."

Harry nodded silently, then stood.

"Was there anything else, Headmistress?" He asked.

"No," McGonagall said, "That was all."

"Thank you for the warning," Harry said, "Goodbye."

McGonagall sighed as Harry left, then turned her attention to other matters that she could still _do_ something about.

((()))

"Harry," Hermione said patiently, "I know you like to always be prepared, but Dragonhide armor just doesn't _fit_ under modern formal wear, muggle _or_ wizard."

Harry scowled, and several of the girls in their study group fought down laughter.

"Hermione," Harry said, some anger leaking into his voice, "There is someone involved in this tournament, who is actively trying to _kill_ me. I will forgo attending the ball altogether, before I forgo my armor."

Harry was focused on his conversation with Hermione, and facing away from the other girls in their group. He did not notice the meaningful glares that Susan, Ginny, Luna, Tracy, and Daphne sent Hermione's way. Neville, Blaise, and Hermione did not.

"I know Harry," Hermione said, sighing, and passing him an antiquated library tome, "Here, this one covers rules of etiquette from when the Tournament was first started. Depending on how much wizarding culture stood compared to muggle back then, you might be able to get away with wearing armor _as_ formal wear, like the Knights used to."

Harry nodded, and began to page through the text. Once he was distracted, Hermione turned to glare briefly at the other girls, before delving into her own text. The rest of that study session was largely quiet.

((()))

Harry was not certain what to make of an eight year old blonde French girl in a white dress. She was cute by age, instinctive human classification, genetics, and deliberate behavior, something Harry wasn't terribly used to dealing with. He had started having… _urges_ relating to looking at girls, particularly when they were smiling at him (something most of the girls in his study group seemed to be doing an awful lot lately), but he had been largely successful in pushing them out of his mind. Harry wasn't willing to deal with puberty and plots on his life at the same time.

Gabrielle was not certain what to make of a short, wiry young Englishman in full plate mail. With a sword at his waist, and not a fencing foil or rapier like she had seen her father use sometimes, but a short sword with a broad blade and entirely functional grip. Gabrielle decided that he looked somewhat imposing, and needed a cape. A cape would make 'imposing' into dashing, and Gabrielle was all for dashing.

Harry had come to pick Gabrielle up from the Beauxbaton carriage, where she had been getting ready for the ball with her sister, and was somewhat surprised that Harry had apparently crossed the snowy outdoors between castle and carriage in armor, without even a cloak. Gabrielle had found the Scottish Winter to be _beastly_ cold, and had not enjoyed it during either of her visits to Hogwarts thus far.

"Miss Delacour," Harry said, nodding courteously in greeting.

"Mister Potter," Gabrielle said, smiling brilliantly at the older boy, "You _must_ call me Gabrielle."

Harry paused for a moment before responding. While he certainly preferred the social control that formality allowed, especially when dealing with people he was almost wholly unacquainted with, he was fairly certain it would be quite rude to refuse to use first names with his 'date' for the Yule ball.

"Very well, Gabrielle," Harry said politely, "You then must, of course, call me Harry."

Gabrielle smiled, and when he offered her his arm, she took it.

((()))

Author's musical selection for the Yule Ball. Remove the space, and Youtube will kit you out for the proper dance experience! The first one is particularly appropriate for those of you unfamiliar with the genre (you poor saps).

www. Youtube watch?v=bR3K5uB-wMA

www. Youtube watch?v=n92ATE3IgIs&feature=related

www. Youtube watch?v=rC6JUA8cjoY

http ./ www. Youtube watch?v=8XPzICHxXoQ

((()))

Hermione was impressed by how thoroughly the Great Hall had been transformed for the Yule Ball, but not quite surprised. After all, Minerva McGonagall was one of the foremost Transfiguration Masters of the age, and was hardly going to put on a poor showing for her school. What _had_ surprised Hermione was the _theme_ that McGonagall had selected. Hermione had watched _The Rocketeer_ several times while she was younger, during a phase in which she was fascinated with unusual methods of air travel, such as rocket-packs and the now largely-extinct zeppelin, and the Great Hall's layout reminded her a great deal of the formal club/dance scene that ended with everything getting shot up.

Hermione _dearly_ hoped the ball would not end the same way the scene in the movie had. The Great Hall was gorgeous, lush white carpet covered the floor, with a multi-tiered arrangement of tables and chairs around the edges of the room, save for one wall, where a large stage with seating for what looked like a full-sized 'Big Band' had been set. There were a _lot_ of Brass instruments, being played by _very_ sharply dressed men in white suits, sitting on or standing in front of white seats, on the white stage. A small waterfall ran down the middle of the stage, splitting to wrap around a small promontory equipped with a microphone, before rejoining and then flowing under the glass dance-floor in the center of the hall.

It was quite possibly the most gorgeous setting Hermione had ever been in. Glancing behind her, she saw that the other members of her little social circle were even more surprised than she was. It was at that point that she abruptly realized that aside from her and Harry, every single one of them was raised entirely outside of Muggle society. _In all fairness_, she thought, _it's hardly likely that all British teenagers would be familiar with American culture from sixty years ago anyways._

Then Harry arrived, and she was entirely distracted.

((()))

Throughout the ball, Harry watched many people. He watched Gabrielle, a little whirlwind of bright smiles, happy and curious words, and good cheer. He watched Viktor Krum, surly and unresponsive on the surface, but thoughtful underneath. He watched Fleur Delacour vary between warm and smiling when she interacted with her sister, and distant and impersonal when she interacted with anyone else. He watched as Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbot clumsily tried to make each other comfortable, and blushed a great deal.

He watched as Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick somehow managed to dance together, and actually found himself laughing together with Gabrielle at the sight. It was after the laughter that he began to feel like there was a pressure in his chest, demanding out, and that _he_ get out, but he suppressed it as best he could. It would be rude to cut the young French girl's evening short, and Harry suspected that the girl wouldn't last too late into the night before she wore herself out, due to a combination both of her age and lively nature.

So Harry continued to watch, seeing the three Slytherins in his study group socialize like the well-trained professionals they were, seeing Susan Bones, Ginny Weasley, and Luna Lovegood laughing and smiling together.

Then Hermione came over and told him he should offer a _dance_ to all the girls in their study group, and Harry nearly panicked. Then he started silently cursing puberty.

((()))

Gabrielle was a _little_ put out when the older British witch came and convinced Harry to dance with several other girls, but she knew it wouldn't be polite to keep him away from his friends, so she went to spend some time with her sister. Besides, it looked like her sister needed some relief from the stupid older boys, who had that stupid look most boys did around her big sister.

Gabrielle was _quite_ used to saving her big sister from idiot boys.

((()))

When Ginny Weasley danced with Harry, it was just about all she could do from breaking out into euphoric giggles. Harry was _dancing_ with her. He was _holding_ her! Her! Oh, he wasn't the _best_ of dancers, he followed the forms well enough, but he did it more with a mechanical precision than any real kind of grace. Still, she wasn't exactly in the top of form herself, more blood-flow going to her face than to the bits of her brain and ears associated with balance. She _quite_ enjoyed herself though.

((()))

When Susan Bones danced with Harry, she noticed that he wasn't entirely comfortable, so she smiled softly at him, and made small talk about things of no consequence; the food at the ball, assignments they had done recently, things that didn't require much from him. He seemed to relax a little bit, and Susan enjoyed the dancing, so she counted it as progress, even if not so much as she would have liked. She left him with a smile when her turn to dance was done.

((()))

When Tracy Davis danced with Harry Potter, she confirmed what she already knew for the _n_th time. Harry Potter was an incredibly powerful and skilled mage, observant and courteous, and almost totally apathetic to social dynamics, social standing, and the formal courtesies involved with interacting with people of various social ranks. Harry had no desire to play the social game, to rise in the eyes of his peers, and from what she could tell, he had no need to either. She enjoyed the dance, and still felt a powerful infatuation for the boy, but continued to firmly inform herself that as attractive as he may be, he wasn't suitable husband material for a family rising through the social ranks.

((()))

When Daphne Greengrass danced with Harry Potter, her mind was running on overdrive. She was attracted to two, and _only_ two things about Harry Potter. One, he was strong, stronger than any of their contemporaries, and by a wide margin. Two, he had shown absolutely no inclination whatsoever to hurt anybody who did not first attack him or someone he cared about. Considering what her mother's relationship with her father had been like, before the man had had an 'accident,' Daphne Greengrass could care less about absolutely anything else in a relationship so long as those two factors were present.

Daphne felt safe around Harry Potter, and that was really all she wanted in a relationship. Unfortunately, Hermione was miles ahead of her in getting close to Harry, knew him better than most probably anybody else in the world, and attempting to sabotage that relationship in order to supplant the Granger would be worse than useless, and well into counter-productive. Daphne's mind whirled as Harry spun her around the dance floor, attempting to find a way to attach herself permanently to the powerful Wizard.

((()))

Luna Lovegood's dance with Harry Potter was, like so many things she did, rather outside the norm. Mostly because she opened it by thanking him for staying at the Ball longer than he really wanted to, and dancing with her and her friends. Harry was more than a little surprised by her expressed gratitude, and that she'd picked up on his desire to leave, but Luna said nothing further, just smiling and enjoying her dance with him.

((()))

When Harry asked Hermione to dance, he did not actually say anything, instead simply extending an arm to her where she sat.

"Of course, Harry," She said, smiling before standing and accompanying him out onto the dance floor.

"Have you enjoyed yourself?" She asked, smiling as the band picked up with another song, and they began to dance.

"Some," Harry said, and Hermione's smile took on a bittersweet note.

"Too many people for too long?" She asked sympathetically.

Harry allowed himself a minute nod.

"Thank you for dancing with all of us girls anyways," Hermione said, "It's made most of us very happy."

Harry nodded again. Hermione gave him another sad smile, and a few moments of silence passed between them as they continued to dance.

"Thank you for coming, Harry," Hermione eventually said, "I know you could have just skipped out on it."

"I could hardly snub Gabrielle a third time," Harry said, "It would have been quite rude."

"Harry," Hermione said gently, "Leaving her because you need to go to class hardly counts as 'snubbing.'"

Harry's expression deadened slightly in the manner Hermione had come to recognize as meaning he didn't want to reveal his current emotions.

"She's eight years old," Harry said quietly, "And she's almost always smiling."

It took Hermione a little while to realize what the significance of Gabrielle being eight years old was, and in that time, the dance ended, and they moved to the edge of the dance floor.

"You see her so happy," Hermione said softly to Harry, gently taking his arms and pulling him around to face her directly, "And when you were eight, your uncle tried to kill you. It makes you want something better for her, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded quietly, and looked away, missing Hermione's smile, though he couldn't miss when she used her hold on his arms to pull him into a hug. She only hugged him briefly, mindful that they were in a very public setting, before pulling back and smiling at him again.

((()))

"This is really quite fascinating," Maxime said, gesturing towards the Great Hall's makeover and rather extravagant musical presence, "Wherever did you get the idea?"

"It's from Muggle culture," McGonagall replied with a smile, "American, in particular, though the time where such as this was common has largely passed."

"A shame," Maxime said, "It's quite lovely, though I must confess, I'm surprised to see it all so _clean_. I had not thought Muggle's were really capable of creating things _quite_ so white in anything other than a church."

"You'd be surprised," McGonagall said, "Though I think some of that has to do with most American buildings being aged by the decade, rather than the century. It _is_ rather surprising, to a degree, how tidy it turned out. Filch has been particularly sharp this year, I suppose he wants to put on a good presentation for guests."

"I would hardly expect any less of my own staff," Maxime agreed, "It would be embarassing."

((()))

"Excuse me," An accented voice said politely from behind Hermione, and she turned to find Fleur Delacour standing behind her

"My sister is tiring," Fleur said, gesturing quietly towards the table she had been sitting at, where Gabrielle was blinking tiredly, and watching them, "I believe it is time for her escort to bring her home for the night."

Harry nodded, disengaged from Hermione after squeezing her hands, and headed towards Gabrielle. Hermione and Fleur watched him go, and when he reached Gabrielle, Fleur spoke.

"Did his uncle really try to kill him when he was eight?" She asked quietly.

"Yes," Hermione said, "He had been living with his aunt and uncle since his parents died. Vernon Dursley is currently serving a life sentence, minimum of thirty years without parole, for domestic abuse, child abuse, assault and battery, and attempted murder."

Fleur paled slightly.

"There are rumors about him," She said carefully, "That imply he is a very powerful wizard."

"My relationship with him began in my first year when I was attacked by a Troll," She said frankly, turning to face the French witch, "He saved my life, killing it in the process."

"That says a great deal about him," Fleur said quietly, meeting Hermione's gaze deliberately, "That he has taken such good care of my little sister also says a great deal about him. You know him well?"

"Better than anyone else, most likely," Hermione said, "I don't suppose your sister will be visiting again? She's been good for him to be around."

"For the other tasks, most probably," Fleur said, "I will try to arrange time for them to visit."

"Thank you," Hermione said, and nodded to the French girl before going to join up with her friends again.

((()))

Harry was not entirely sure how she had done it (though he remembered a cute pout quite vividly), but Harry was carrying Gabrielle piggy-back across the Hogwarts grounds to the Beauxbaton carriage.

"Mmm… Harry?" Gabrielle said sleepily

"Yes, Gabrielle?" Harry asked.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Gabrielle asked.

"…No," Harry said, uncertain as to the purpose of the question.

"I think you should be my sister's boyfriend," Gabrielle said tiredly, "All the other boys she's tried to go out with are jerks. But you're nice."

Harry was too shocked to say much of anything else except 'goodnight' when he dropped her off.

((()))

Once the last guest left the Great Hall, and the House Elves began to clean it out, a small beetle detached itself from the underside of one of the tables, and buzzed off towards the exit.

_Oh yes_, Rita Skeeter thought to herself, Excellent _material tonight…_

((()))

The second task began, and Harry removed his broom from his pocket, then unshrank it. In the same space of time, his opponents cast bubble-head charms, or transfigured themselves. While his opponents waded into the water, Harry cast a 'point me' spell targeting Hermione, then sped out over the lake. By the time the other Champions had moved beneath the surface of the water, Harry was floating over where his wand faced directly downward, or as close to it as he could perceive.

Harry then cast a Bubblehead charm, horrifically overpowering it, and ending up with a sphere centered on his head that had roughly a one-yard radius. Curling up so that his entire body fell within the radius, Harry pulled a small rock from his pocket, then unshrunk it, restoring it to its original small boulder status. Holding the rock became bracing himself on the rock, as it plunged directly into the lake, and Harry rode the stone down into the depths.

The lake was far from clear, but it was not so murky that he was unable to shift the rock's angle of descent to avoid striking any of the Mermen he passed, or avoid striking the hostages when he touched down next to them. Before doing anything else, Harry took a few moments to carefully inspect the area around the hostages, sweeping it both with his eyes, and a tendril of his magic. There were mermen and invisible wizards around the hostages, and several spells, as well as a small set of non-magical scuba gear on each of them. Satisfied that McGonagall had been telling the truth about the risk level, Harry set to work. After a swift cut with his knife to her bonds, he pulled Hermione Granger's unconscious form into his bubble with him, and released the rock, allowing his large bubble's buoyancy to bring them rapidly to the surface.

Harry's broom had drifted slightly across the surface of the water, but he quickly summoned it, then rather abruptly discovered that breaking the surface of the water had brought Hermione to consciousness. Wet, cold, and _clingy_ consciousness.

"_Merlin_," She said, clamping her arms around Harry's midsection like cold bands of iron, "In the _lake_? In _February?_ What were they _thinking?_"

"McGonagall was not pleased," Harry said, finding that Hermione's grip was causing him more shortness of breath than anything involved in accomplishing the task thus far.

"I'd think not," Hermion said as Harry awkwardly dragged them both onto his broom, "Cats _hate_ getting wet."

Harry shrugged, and accelerated his Nimbus up out of the water, and towards the shore.

((()))

"Well," Hermione said later that day, "The other Judges have officially stripped Karkaroff of his position for blatant bias."

"Damn straight," Ginny said, scowling at nobody in particular, "Harry's so obviously out-performed the others its disgusting. He just doesn't like the fact that Harry showed him up in a fight."

"It's not like it matters any more at this point," Tracy Davis said, "He probably only gave Harry four points in the first task so that he wouldn't get his position stripped then. By giving him zero now, he's ensured that Krum has almost as many as Harry going into the last task."

"It'll matter," Susan Bones said quietly, "He's made it obvious just how petty a man he is not only to Harry, but to the staff and students of all three schools, including his own. There were whispers about Harry showing up Karkaroff before this, but they'll gain a lot of credibility after this."

"It's also going to cost him a lot of face in pretty much every academic circle there is," Blaise Zabini said.

"How was Harry taking it?" Daphne Greengrass asked.

"He smiled," Hermione said, smiling herself, "I think he's taking it as proof that Karkaroff's afraid of him, since he's resorting to such petty revenge, and hurting himself in the process. I doubt Harry expects it to change his odds of winning."

"I don't think _anybody_ expects it to change Harry's odds of winning," Neville Longbottom said wryly, "He barely took five minutes for the second task, and less for the first. Honestly, I think the other Champions got a raw deal, when Harry entered, they're all exceptional, but they're being completely shown up. Harry's in a different league than the rest of us. Except maybe for you, Hermione."

Hermione blushed at that, and began trying to stammer out a reply, but mercifully, someone brought the subject back around to something closer to where it started.

"Well," Luna Lovegood said, "I castigated Mister Karkaroff for his unsportsman-like behavior in my editorial for the _Quibbler_, do any of you suppose the _Prophet_ will mention anything either?"

"We'll see tomorrow, I guess," Hannah Abbot said.

((()))

Harry sat silently, alone on one of the battlements of Hogwarts, concealed in a place accessible only via flight or intense climbing skills. It was getting harder to find time alone, something Harry wasn't certain if he minded or not. He had gradually become more and more aware that Hermione was attempting very deliberately to get him into social situations more, and to become more comfortable around people. It was working, to at least some degree, but Harry found it more difficult to go off alone to develop his magical abilities, without someone watching.

He could still practice, of course, working simple tricks such as silently, motionlessly, and wandlessly applying and removing sticking charms to a book he was reading, color changing charms to switch the color of the text between brown and black, applying and slowly strengthening a hovering charm on his chair until it rose slightly off the ground, then weakening it slowly enough to avoid making noise. All of these tricks forced him to continue to develop his control, as while he could perform most spells with one component of the casting removed, doing it without all three was incredibly demanding.

It was hard though, dealing with people being around him for more than just a few hours each day, with people who knew his habits, who would come looking for him if he was missing at a time they were not used to. Sometimes, it made Harry feel hemmed in, sometimes it made him feel warm inside in a way that felt both wonderful and painful, for reasons he could not entirely understand. Harry rather wished that she could have tried this during a year that he was _not_ being forced to compete in a lethal tournament against his will under pain of losing his magic.

Of course, considering she was taking her NEWT's this year, Harry doubted there would be opportunity for her to try to socialize him again. Something in Harry's chest ached at the thought of her not returning to Hogwarts next year, which confused him, as he had gotten on just fine during second year without her, but he turned his mind back to the Tournament instead. One task remained, and since nothing obviously irregular had occurred thus far, whatever the person or persons behind Harry's entrance into the tournament had planned would almost certainly take place there and then.

Harry intended to be ready.

((()))

End Chapter 10.

"Thus we may know that there are five essentials for victory:  
He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight.  
He will win who knows how to handle both superior and inferior forces.  
He will win whose army is animated by the same spirit throughout all its ranks.  
He will win who, prepared himself, waits to take the enemy unprepared.  
He will win who has military capacity and is not interfered with by the sovereign.

Hence the saying: If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat."

-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 3, Section 17-18

(old)AN: It's a good thing that this fic is nearing the end, as my author-coherency is falling apart. I'm accustomed to having a great deal of time to work back and forth across the entire piece to tie everything together, ret-conning stuff in the earlier parts of the story to fit how it's developing later, laying plot hints, etc. It's been five years since I finished the first draft of my novel, and it *still* hasn't been submitted for publishing, to give you some idea of how much time I've worked with prior to this project.

This was probably the single hardest chapter for me to write, as my own heart has not been in a remotely celebratory place almost the entire last few weeks, so doing the Ball properly was not going to be easy. If I'd been in a better state of mind/heart, the Ball section probably would have been twice as long, but I think I've done a reasonable job at it, even if I would have liked to make it a great deal more. I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but as I said, I'm losing author coherency on this fic. Fortunately, the final chapter is what I've been anticipating writing this whole time, so _that_ will be easy.

Next chapter will be the last chapter proper, but it'll probably be pretty long, and 90%+ chance of an epilogue. The focus and tone of the story will also narrow as it draws to a close; there probably will not be much more in the way of humor/light-hearted moments before the story climax.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

Author's Note: This is the chapter where the story earns its title. That doesn't mean psychopath Harry, but it does mean _Brutal_ Harry. Also, be warned, things get messy; this chapter is the reason this story is rated Mature.

((()))

_Harry, I'd thought you hadn't inherited James talent with the ladies. I was wrong. _

_You lucky dog you._

_-Sirius._

((()))

Breakfast at Hogwarts was rather abruptly interrupted by a choked scream from the Gryffindor table, one vaguely recognizable as originating from Hermione Granger.

At the Gryffindor table, Harry was in the middle of banishing a strongly-odored viscous liquid from Hermione's cheeks and arms, but the skin beneath was already breaking out in boils and blisters. Several of the other students at the table gasped in shock, and a few lurched out of their chairs to act, but Harry had already levitated and Hermione, and was sprinting towards the Hospital Wing.

"Keep your eyes shut," He said to the gasping Hermione, speaking between breaths, "Breath slowly, and if you begin to inhale a liquid, exhale immediately."

Hermione nodded, though Harry could not see it. It only took him a few minutes to bring her to the Hospital Wing, where he found Pomfrey waiting for him just inside the entrance.

"McGonagall already sent word," She said briskly, taking control of Hermione's levitation from him, "Bubotuber pus in a letter. I'll have her treated in a trice."

Harry nodded tensely, and followed after the Mediwitch as she lowered Hermione into a bed. With a few flicks of her wand, Pomfrey had Hermione's hair and sleeves out of the way, after which she began applying a paste Harry was unfamiliar with to the Granger girl's inflamed skin. Harry watched her for a few minutes, but when Hermione began emitting relieved sighs, he turned and left the infirmary, mind filled with purpose.

((()))

Andromeda Tonks had just finished eating breakfast, and was in the process of cleaning up, when there was abruptly a Harry Potter in her kitchen. She hadn't even heard the crack of apparition.

"Harry?" She said, taking in his unusually grim expression, "What are you doing here?"

"I need to know," Harry said, "Who owns the _Daily Prophet._"

"That would be Gustavus Ogden," Andromeda said, "He also is the Chief Editor, and works out of an office at the _Prophet_ building on Diagon Alley. Why do you want to know?"

"I've decided I wish to own a Newspaper," Harry said, and disappeared as abruptly as he'd arrived.

((()))

The _Daily Prophet_ offices were in a rather upscale building on Diagon Alley; the paper had no real competition in the British Isles, and was very successful financially as a result. From Harry's point of view, standing in front of the offices, testing the magic within the building, it had also become rather detached from reality; having read about the process of national decay, he suspected it had been a gradual separation over many years. He honestly would not have cared much, had it not been for the fact that now it had hurt his best friend.

After ascertaining that the wards were not powerful enough to pose any real threat to him, and that none of the staffers inside were of exceptional magical power, Harry opened the front door, and walked in.

"Hello," Said an attractive young woman seated behind a small desk in the entrance hall, smiling at Harry as she did so, "How may I help you?"

"I am Harry Potter," Harry said, feeling a bit funny as she smiled at him, but crushing the feeling ruthlessly, "I wish to speak with the owner about purchasing the _Daily Prophet_."

The receptionist frowned slightly, worrying her lip a little.

"I'm sorry," She said, genuine regret in her voice, "But I can't just interrupt the Editor without an appointment."

Harry nodded, then reached into his robes and withdrew a ten-pound lump of gold, placing it on her desk.

"Please take this to him," Harry said, "I'm confident it will catch his interest."

The young woman tentatively reached out and touched the mass of precious metal, then picked it up and examined it more closely.

"You're serious, aren't you?" She said.

"Yes," Harry said, "I am."

"I'll go see what he has to say," She said, rising from her desk and moving further into the building

((()))

"The Editor will see you now," The young woman said, smiling as she returned to the entrance hall, and gestured for Harry to follow her further into the building.

Harry nodded, and silently followed her into the main office floor of the building. Harry was mildly surprised to see that, like in movies he had seen during cultural research, the writing staff did in fact work at desks that were only semi-segregated from each other in a communal work area. A few of the writers looked at him curiously as he passed through, but Harry did not return their gazes, though he paid sharp attention to them with his other senses. He detected no build-up of magic for attack, and heard no guns being readied, and arrived at the Editor's office on the far side of the office floor unmolested. The receptionist opened the door for him, and he proceeded in alone.

The office of Gustavus Ogden was a display of comfortable wealth; not ostentatious, not under-played, it simply showed someone who had money, and used it as he saw fit. Ogden himself was seated behind a massive hardwood desk, and was a moderately overweight man, not obese, but clearly not too concerned about keeping himself in shape either.

"You wished to speak with me, Mister Potter?" Ogden said, placing the blob of gold onto his desk meaningfully.

"Yes," Harry said, reaching into his robes as he began to speak, "I find the material your rag has published to be utterly execrable."

Harry paused for a moment as he pulled a cloth bag out of his robe, and placed it on the desk in front of him, but out of easy reach of Ogden.

"In the interests of correcting the blatant lies your 'paper' has been publishing," Harry continued, "I have decided to purchase it and rework the publishing standards to include some kind of relation to the truth."

Harry reached into the bag and began pulling out small bars of gold, and placing them on the desk, capturing Ogden's attention and killing any desire the man had to interrupt. Harry said nothing more until he had placed a half-dozen of the small bars on the desk.

"Considering the number of Magicals in Britain and your maximum possible number of subscribers, and that this gold is rated at better than 99% purity, this should be twice the value of the entire _Prophet._ More than a fair asking price."

Ogden licked his lips nervously, staring between the gold bars on his desk between them, and Harry's cool, ever so slightly menacing gaze.

"And if I'm not interested in selling?" He said eventually.

"Then I will start paying your paper and ink suppliers not to supply you," Harry said flatly, "I already checked their prices. I have enough gold to pay them _not_ to sell to you for a year. Beyond that, I have enough gold to pay off a number of _other_ suppliers as well, enough that I should be able to keep you deprived for months, if not longer before you can find someone I won't be able to afford to pay off."

Ogden blinked as he realized just how much money the fourteen-year-old in front of him was implying he had.

"Also," Harry continued, interrupting Ogden's thoughts, "I will initiate litigation implicating you in deliberately printing lies, assault on a minor, and defaming two noble houses."

Ogden cringed. Whether or not the charges ever stuck, and even with him controlling the press, dealing with the legal battle would be _very_ expensive with Potter carrying that much gold, and might even result in a conviction.

"I'm not going to raise the offer to appeal to your greed," Harry said, allowing cold anger to show clearly in his voice for the first time since he'd entered the man's office, "I've already offered you far more than your shitty paper is worth."

Ogden sat and thought for several long moments, staring at the twelve gold bars on his desk.

"Can I take the gold now?" He eventually said.

"If you sign the deed over now," Harry responded promptly.

Ogden scooted his chair back and spun it around, facing a safe set into the wall that Harry had not been able to see through the back of the man's chair before it was turned. The man summoned a briefcase, emptied most of the contents of the safe into it, then used his spell to direct the contents of his desk, and several shelves in the office into the briefcase as well. He then took the single item from the safe he had _not_ moved into the briefcase, placed it on the desk, retrieved one of the pens he had packed into the magically expanded briefcase, wrote several quick lines on and signed the sheet of parchment in front of him, before sliding it across to Harry.

Harry examined the parchment, finding it to be the deed to the _Prophet_ with a crude set of terms of sale attached, with Ogden's signature in the appropriate place. Harry made Ogden wait several minutes as he went over the deed and terms of sale a second time, before addending it slightly to include the weight of gold he was giving Ogden. He then pushed it back across the ownership-contested desk to Ogden, who examined it, nodded, and pushed it back. Harry signed the deed, and silently levitated the gold bars to Ogden, who simply opened his briefcase beneath them, and let them fall in.

"Will there be anything else, Mister Potter?" Ogden said, standing from behind the desk that was now Harry's and smiling.

"Yes," Harry said as the man began heading towards the office's exit, "What is the receptionist's name?"

"Anabelle Rose," Ogden said, "Good luck with your new paper."

"Good luck with your retirement," Harry replied politely as the man left.

((()))

"Miss Rose," Harry said, sticking his head into the _Prophet's_ entry hall, "If you would join me in my office, I would like to consult with you on some thoughts I have on how to re-organize the _Prophet's_ fact-checking procedures."

The bewildered receptionist turned from where she'd seen a smiling Gustavus Ogden walk out the front door to look at Harry. Seeing no sign whatsoever that the boy was not serious, she shook herself free of her bewilderment, stood, and followed him back into the building.

((()))

It was late when Harry returned to Hogwarts that night, and an irritated Hermione Granger was waiting to ambush him in the entrance hall.

"Harry Potter," She said fiercely as she stormed across the hall towards him, and Harry knew by the inclusion of his last name, but exclusion of his middle name, that he had worried her, but not offended her, "Where have you been?"

"Re-organizing the _Prophet_," Harry said carefully as he approached her, "And tracking down Moody to make him the Chief Editor."

It was a testament to Hermione's continuing exposure to the oddities of Harry Potter that this announcement only caused her to pause for a split second, and blink once, before crossing the rest of the distance between them, and wrapping him in a crushing hug. Harry returned it, though in a less crushing manner.

"You didn't do anything illegal, did you?" She asked quietly, worry in her voice.

"No," Harry said, "I just bought it."

Hermione sighed and shook her head, but rather than ay anything more, she shifted slightly in their embrace, Harry was not entirely certain how, but now it was less of her hugging him, and more him holding her. It made him feel decidedly awkward, but he wasn't sure what to say about it, so he didn't say anything. Neither did Hermione, who was relaxing more and more as he held her, and Harry continued to feel more and more awkward as several minutes passed.

He was rather relieved when they were interrupted by someone clearing their throat, and he turned to see McGonagall standing at the entrance of the hall, looking at them with no small amount of amusement on her face. Harry shifted to free himself, but Hermione tightened her grip a little, and Harry subsided.

"Yes, Headmistress?" He said, feeling embarrassed, something he was not accustomed to.

"I'm afraid, Mister Potter," McGonagall said, "That as you left the grounds without permission, and you are still not _legally_ an adult, you will have to report to my office tomorrow evening for detention. You may have done so with good intentions, but you cannot go breaking the rules without consequence, especially since you are known to be my favorite student."

Harry nodded reluctantly, and McGonagall smiled.

"Now," She said, "You'd best see Miss Granger off home, it is getting rather late, after all. The Floo in Gryffindor tower will be active for fifteen minutes once I reach my office. Do make haste."

Harry sighed, nodded again, and began guiding the unusually clingy Granger girl up towards Gryffindor tower.

((()))

Minerva McGonagall tried not to laugh as she read the _Daily Prophet's_ first edition under Mad-Eye Moody as Chief Editor. It was _not_ an easy task; she turned her attention back to the article she'd been reading.

_And in another display of utter ineptitude by the Ministry, _the article continued, _it took my last apprentice before I retired, all of twenty-two years old, to realize that the Skeeter wench was illegally gathering what few actual facts she'd published by illegally breaking and entering into private areas as an Illegal Animagus. There's not a man or woman in the ministry above the rank of Senior Auror or Senior Clerk who can find their ass with both hands to pull their heads out of it since Bones was sacked, and let me tell you…_

Minerva wondered briefly if Moody realized that the front page wasn't supposed to be for editorials. Then she realized he probably wouldn't care if he _did_ know, and began paging through to find out what else Harry's latest acquisition had published.

((()))

Harry was stressed going into the third task. Hermione had been planning on coming to watch, but he hadn't seen her all day. If it weren't for the magic of the Goblet compelling him to compete, he would have been off to search for her hours ago, but instead he stood in front of the entrance to a hedge-row maze, waiting for Ludo Bagman to signal that he could enter.

It seemed as though every last person in the castle had turned out for the event; Harry had even seen Argus Filch walking the perimeter of the maze before disappearing into the stands. Harry ignored the restless crowds, and banked the fierce excitement that burned within him. McGonagall still hadn't figured out just what had been done to the Goblet, and he fully intended to destroy it the minute he was no longer under its influence.

Ludo Bagman gestured into the air with his wand, and a small cannon blast echoed over the maze. Raising his wand, Harry entered the maze.

((()))

Draco Malfoy was not in the least bit surprised when Harry Potter dealt with the hedges that defined the maze by blasting through them with _Reducto_ curses as he walked unhurriedly to the center of the maze. It had become bluntly obvious after the first task, that Harry Potter had been concealing the full extent of his abilities, and trying to maintain a low profile. After the first task, he started every class that dealt with spell-casting by casting the spell or spells they were handling that day silently, then would spend the rest of the class working on managing it without wand motions either, while his classmates struggled to perform the spell in the first place.

From what Malfoy had both heard from others, and seen for himself, he performed 'merely' at or near the top of his class in Potions and Herbology. It had shamed the Malfoy to realize that where he had been spending his first few years at Hogwarts attempting to bludgeon his classmates into submission with crass displays of power, Potter had been silently building his abilities, with no one the wiser. Malfoy _still_ was not certain how he had ended up in Slytherin, and Harry in Gryffindor, rather than the other way around.

And now, while Draco Malfoy sat in the stands, a social recluse as his only other options were even less desirable, Harry Potter stood in the spotlight, making a mockery of the power of not only his classmates, but the other, more senior champions, and most probably every Wizard and Witch present save for Dumbledore himself. A small part of Malfoy burned with jealousy, but he ignored it, and it was growing smaller every day. Potter had _earned_ his power, and wielded it effectively; Malfoy had done next to nothing to develop his own abilities, instead relying on his father's name.

He found it more than slightly ironic to realize that the Hufflepuff house, which he had so despised just two years ago, now embodied what he knew he needed more than anything else to overcome his now-lowly position; an iron-clad work-ethic.

As Harry Potter obliterated the last hedge between him and the cup, sending branches and leaves flying almost into the stands, Draco Malfoy was reflecting upon how the world was not, in fact, how his father had lead him to believe it was.

Then Harry touched the cup in the center and disappeared.

((()))

When Harry appeared at the graveyard in Little Hangleton, a deadly calm settled over him. Wherever he was, whatever he was there for, he was certain that it was the ultimate fruit of whatever plot had put him in the Tournament in the first place. Finding Bellatrix Lestrange standing in front of him, wearing Argus Filch's clothes, _with a wand to Hermione Granger's throat,_ simply intensified the sensation of cold lethality coursing through his veins.

There were several long, silent moments, as Lestrange stared wildly at Harry, and he stared calmly back, before Harry broke the silence.

"I suppose," He said, crossing his arms and slipping his hands into his robes, "You probably broke out when I retrieved Sirius, and the ministry has been covering it up to save face?"

Lestrange just continued to stare at him. Harry frowned, and extended his magical senses actively, wondering why she was just standing there staring at him. Someone, and some_thing_ were creeping up on him on his left. One pair of silent stunners later, Harry removed his hands from his robes slowly, this time with his wand. He had not even taken his eyes off of Lestrange, though he noted peripherally that Hermione was smiling now.

"Your ambush has failed," Harry said, "Hand over Hermione and I'll leave catching you up to the Ministry."

"Not so easy, Potter," A hissing voice said from Harry's left, and Harry stepped carefully backwards to bring it into the same field of vision as Bellatrix Lestrange, keeping his wand directed the woman's way.

"Surrender," The voice continued, "Or the girl dies."

"No," Harry said firmly, turning slightly to focus on the speaker, "I am not a fool. If I surrender, there is nothing to keep you from killing her. And I guarantee you, if you do kill her, neither of you will leave this place alive…"

Harry's eyes narrowed as he examined the small crudely humanoid creature he was speaking to, crawling across the ground, a wand held clumsily in one undersized hand.

"-Tom Riddle," He finished.

"I am _Lord_ _Voldemort_," the creature spat, and Harry laughed harshly.

"No," Harry said, "You're the pathetic remnant of a bully. A powerful bully, but nothing more. You weren't even a pureblood, you just pretended to be so that you could manipulate that social group."

"I am the most powerful-"

"_Were_ the most powerful," Harry cut Voldemort off, "And even that was debatable. Now _I_ am the most powerful Wizard in Britain. I've faced your old followers, Riddle, they were pathetic. I faced your diary-horcrux when it attempted to possess a student when I was _twelve_, and I defeated it before it could even cast a spell on me."

"Foolish boy!" The creature spat, "I have held-"

"_Have_ held!" Harry suddenly shouted back, "You _were_, Tom, and you might have been more powerful than I am now at the height of your power, but you are not _now_."

The creature was silent at that, snarling but saying nothing, and long moments passed while Harry alternated staring at Lestrange, who still held Hermione, though she appeared as much enraged as insane now, and Riddle, who simply glowered at him.

"I still have the girl," Riddle growled eventually.

"Yes," Harry said, returning to his calm, courteous mode of speech, "Which is the only reason I have not slain both of you."

"I will have a vial of blood for the girl, Potter," Riddle said, "Or I will kill the girl and let you destroy this body, and simply come again later."

Harry glared at the being, and considered for a long moment before responding.

"Your binding magical oath that you hand Hermione over to me," Harry said, "Unharmed, once I give you the blood."

The creature laughed darkly.

"Less the fool than most your age," Riddle hissed, "If you want an oath, I want one more thing of you as well. You will duel me once I am reborn, then I will turn the girl over to you. Unharmed, of course."

"I do not duel," Harry said coldly, "But I will _fight_ you, if that is what it takes to secure your oath."

Voldemort laughed again, and raised his wand, carefully pointing it away from Harry.

"Very well then," Voldemort said, "I, born Tom Marvolo Riddle, swear upon my magic that in exchange for a vial of Harry Potter's blood, and him _fighting_ me once I am reborn, I will not harm Hermione Granger, and turn her over to him-"

"-Unharmed," Harry interjected forcefully, and Riddle laughed again before continuing.

"Unharmed, upon the duel's completion. So do I swear."

Harry nodded sharply, and conjured a vial and a knife, then after a moment's concentration, lowered his internal barrier over his right arm, and made a small cut on the outside of his bicep. After feeding a moderate portion of blood into the vial, Harry cast one of the simpler healing charms he knew to clot the wound, then levitated it over to Voldemort, keeping a sharp eye on Lestrange as he did so. As he re-asserted the barrier in his arm, he found it ironic that his struggle against the Goblet at the start of the year had enabled him to work through one of the issues it had presented him. It would have been years yet before he developed an interest in lowering his barrier, much less figured out _how_, without the sheer demand on his magic that event had created.

Once he had handed the blood over, Harry returned his hands to his sleeves, and stepped further back. While Voldemort roused the minion that had been carrying him before Harry stunned him, Harry palmed one of his shrunken weapons, and cast a lightening charm on the ammunition in it in preparation for unshrinking and using it.

Harry then spent several minutes watching as a rebirth ritual was performed, involving his blood, Riddle Senior's bones, and one of Bellatrix Lestranges toes. Harry was not happy when the woman forced Hermione to cut it off for her. The last thing his friend needed was for this night to be _more_ traumatizing than it already had been. By the time the ritual completed, Harry was, if anything, impatient.

Then Voldemort stood up from the cauldron, naked, and Harry saw more of what Tom Riddle did, and didn't have, than he had ever wanted to. He also briefly wondered how Voldemort was avoiding being boiled by the concoction.

"Robe me," Riddle commanded, and Lestrange, almost slavering with eagerness to serve, wrapped a black robe around her master as he stepped out of the cauldron.

Wasting no time, Harry strode across the graveyard to stand directly in front of Voldemort, keeping his senses sharp as he faced the reborn half-blood.

"Let's get on with it," Harry said sharply, and Riddle turned to face him, sneering.

"In due time, boy," Riddle said, sneering as he reached out to Bellatrix Lestrange's arm, pressing a finger to what Harry recognized as a Dark Mark.

Harry saw no reason to wait, and cast a piercing hex at Voldemort, simultaneously un-shrinking his Uzi.

((()))

Hermione was abruptly jerked out of her frantic attempts to formulate an escape plan by a burst of gunfire, and a shriek of outrage from Voldemort. Lestrange's wand dropped from her throat for the first time since Harry had arrived at the graveyard, and Hermione lunged away from the madwoman. Hermione rolled away as there was a second burst of gunfire, and looked up to see Bellatrix Lestrange collapse, gurgling, to the ground. She snatched the woman's wand from her now limp grasp and rolled to her feet.

"Run, Hermione!" Harry roared, and she looked up to see him firing another burst at Voldemort from an Uzi, but the man-thing had some sort of shield up, and it absorbed the bullets.

More than certain that Harry could take care of himself, Hermione ran.

((()))

Harry ran to his left and discarded the spent magazine from the Uzi then reloaded, sticking his wand to the side of the gun as he did so. Riddle used the moment to finish healing the arm Harry had wounded with his piercing curse, and take the offensive. Dark jets of energy leapt from his wand towards Harry, but the distance he had gained from Voldemort gave him plenty of time to dodge the curses, and his return fire from the Uzi did not suffer from that flaw. Fortunately for Voldemort, Harry's accuracy on the move was crap, and his first two bursts only resulted in a single graze along the side of Voldemort's new abdomen, but it made Riddle more than aware of how dangerous Harry's gun was, and he raised another shield.

Once the shield was up, Harry stopped running, dodged another pair of curses, then let loose on full-auto at the shield. His accuracy had improved since the previous summer, and the shield was a target of considerable size; Harry hit with two thirds of the remaining clip. His shots overwhelmed the shield, knocking it down, and Riddle ducked for cover as the last few rounds were fired. The clip exhausted, Harry palmed his wand, and sent a concussive hex towards the tombstone Voldemort had taken cover behind, before ducking behind a tombstone himself.

A long moment of careful concentration later, he had apparated silently to the top of a crypt that overlooked most of the cemetery, where he reloaded, shrunk, and stowed the Uzi, retrieving instead a silenced M4 carbine, and bracing it into position. That was when the Death Eaters started arriving.

((()))

Riddle snarled as he shook off the disorientation from Potter's concussive hex, then used a longer incantation to cast a more powerful globular shield that covered his entire body. Standing from behind the tombstone he had been forced to take cover behind, he spat the incantation to a powerful blasting curse, and obliterated every tombstone within a dozen paces of where he had last seen Potter, but found no sign of the boy.

A sharp _crack_ behind him marked the arrival of the first of his followers, and he turned to face the man, just in time to see Vincent Goyle's mask and skull shatter under a three-round burst of fire.

((()))

_And now_, Harry Potter thought grimly to himself as he sighted in on the next arrival, _I am a killer_.

((()))

"Raise shields," Voldemot screamed as Gregory Goyle's corpse joined Vincent Crabbe's on the cemetery floor, "He hides from me and strikes from the dark!"

His minions, following instincts from long ago, instantly obeyed him, raising shields to protect against a random variety of directions, but more arrived who had not yet heard the order, and two more were cut down by nearly-silent gunfire.

((()))

Lucius Malfoy appeared at the edge of the graveyard, clad in a black cloak with the hood pulled up, but no mask.

_Now, _he thought as he raised a pair of Omnioculars to his eyes, _what has became of my old master._

((()))

When the fifth of his underlings dropped, Voldemort was finally able to determine where Potter was firing from, and whirled around, already speaking the words for his most powerful blasting curse as he sighted in on the roof of the crypt.

((()))

Harry saw Voldemort turn towards him, as he knew the man eventually would, an dropped his M4, disappearing immediately with the sharp _crack_ that marked a conventional apparition.

((()))

Riddle snarled in satisfaction as the entire top of the Crypt was blown away, but his moment of triumph was interrupted by cries of pain from his followers behind him, and he twisted around to see Harry Potter withdrawing a pair of shortswords from the backs of Flint and Yaxley, then bringing them around to stab two of his subordinates who had just arrived, that Voldemort had not been able to identify yet.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort screamed, and green light jetted towards the young Potter, but he disappeared with a sharp _crack, _leaving four more of Voldemort's followers dying.

((()))

Hermione paused at the edge of the graveyard, desperately out of breath and wishing she could Apparate, before turning for a minute to see what was going on behind her. The green flash of a killing curse, and Voldemort's outraged screams were enough to inspire her to continued flight, albeit at more of a lurching shuffle than a sprint.

((()))

"You two!" Voldemort screamed, pointing at two Death Eaters, "Tend the wounded. You lot!" He pointed at about half a dozen, "Your largest shields, covering all directions!"

He would have continued screaming instructions, but a loud _whoosh_ came from behind him, and his head twisted around with inhuman speed and flexibility, just in time to see a Rocket-Propelled Grenade strike his shield-globe.

((()))

Harry scowled as his RPG failed to penetrate Voldemort's shield, but took the indecision it caused in his followers as an opportunity, and used the time to disapparate silently.

((()))

Voldemort's re-born body, though substantially tougher than that of a regular human, was still briefly stunned by the massive impact on his shield. A shield, which to his distress, nearly failed under the single blast, even though it was his own personal improvement on a shield crafted centuries ago specifically to be strong against muggle firearms. Fuming silently, he re-cast the spell.

"After the girl!" He said quietly, his voice dripping with lethal intent as he gestured in the direction the mudblood had fled before his followers had arrived, "Apparate to the edge of the graveyard, then bring her back. _I_ will deal with Potter."

((()))

Flying one hundred feet overhead on his broom, Harry did not hear Riddle's order to his Death Eaters, and was busily unshrinking grenades from his belt-pouches. When he had an even dozen, he primed them, then stared down, waiting.

((()))

An even dozen of Riddle's followers went after the mudblood, Voldemort immediately set to casting an anti-apparition ward while he waited for Potter to attack again, and reveal himself. It did not even occur to him in his ego that Potter would direct his attack against a group that did not include himself. As he worked through the short-term warding, another dozen of his followers arrived, all that he knew would be able to return save Lucius Malfoy, and grouped around him.

((()))

Harry, seeing the cluster of soft targets grouping around his primary target, considered attempting to time the grenade's fuse to drop-time, then discarded the idea for a more direct approach. With a sharp _crack_, he Apparated to directly beside Voldemort, though to his frustration, he had not been able to appear inside the shield. Harry dropped the grenades, their pins sliding out together in a chain as he did so, then attempted to Apparate away again.

((()))

Three syllables before Riddle completed his incantation, Harry Potter appeared in front of him, and dropped a collection of metal ovoids on the ground in front of him. Riddle grinned in triumph as he completed his warding against apparition, and the Potter boy was left standing on a dozen of his own grenades, his attempt to disapparate failing.

"I win, Potter," Riddle said, secure inside his shield, just before the grenades all detonated.

((()))

Harry Potter's world abruptly disappeared in smoke and fire, and he was hurled briefly into the air. His broomstick shattered beneath him, taking away his second-best maneuverability option, after Apparition. The hail of shrapnel from the grenades was mostly stopped by his Dragonhide armor, and his barrier dealt with the rest, leaving Harry feeling like he had been struck by a light spray of hot water. He landed awkwardly, unable to see the ground yet, but rolled to his feet, and faced Riddle. A glance told him that his weapon-belt had been damaged, and though he doubted _all_ his shrunken guns had been damaged by the explosions, he was certain _some_ had, and he had no way to tell which without testing them each individually. His wand had been on the inside of his Dragonhide armor and protected by it, but his robes were in shambles.

Shrugging off the tattered robes, leaving him in Dragonhide boots and armor, with a damaged combat harness over his chest, Harry pulled his wand with his left hand, and unshrunk the shortsword sheathed in his left.

((()))

For a moment, Voldemort stared in stunned disbelief as Harry Potter rose out of the smoke from his grenades, shrugging off shredded robes, and drawing his wand and sword and moving to attack again. Never in his life, not even when he had faced Dumbledore, had he seen someone shrug off that kind of damage. His own shield had almost been obliterated again, and if Potter started using magic rather than muggle weapons, it would collapse on the next blow.

Then he snarled. This changed _nothing_. He had hemmed Potter in, destroyed his broom, and survived his best weapons. Riddle had lost some of his minions, but once Potter was dead, he could always recruit more.

"_Crucio_," Voldemort said, voice dripping with menace as he ignored the pained moans and gurgles of those of his followers who had not been slain outright by the grenades, and jabbed his wand at Potter, aiming directly between his eyes.

((()))

Pain. Pain like not even his uncle had been able to inflict upon him. Pain like he had never experienced before in his life, and immediately never wished to again. There had been no bolt of light for Harry to dodge, though at such close range, even he would be hard-pressed to do so. Harry struggled to move towards Voldemort, to swing his sword, to use his magic, but the pain disrupted his concentration, forced his muscles to clench, and crippled him utterly.

((()))

Riddle could feel the triumph rising in him, confident for the first time since Potter had put a piercing curse through his arm at the start of the fight. A curse that would have taken his heart had his own reflexes still been held to human limitations. He saw movement in his peripheral vision, but ignored it as he continued to pour his desire to inflict pain through his wand, and waited for the Potter boy to begin screaming.

((()))

Three of Riddle's minions had survived the grenades uninjured, protected by their position on the far side of Voldemort's shield from the blasts, and as their dark lord appeared to gain the upper hand, one of the Death Eater's took the initiative, and moved around his lord to join in the attack. He cast a single spell.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

((()))

Green light bore down on Harry, and he was still powerless to move. It slammed into the center of his torso, a carefully aimed shot that struck dead-center, and blasted away the armor that had been protecting his chest.

Then the spell rebounded explosively, a massive concussive blast bowling over Harry, finishing off Voldemort's shield and knocking him flat, and knocking one of the other two Death Eater's on his ass. The caster of the spell caught the full back-lash, and green light, murkier in color after rebounding off of Harry's chest, struck him full-force, eroding his body into protoplasm and splattering it across the shattered graveyard.

((()))

Voldemort lost precious seconds trapped in a flashback of when he had made the same mistake his Death Eater just had, reliving the terror of being forcibly disembodied by his own magic. It took him only a few moments to recover from his haze of physical shock and terrified memory, but by the time he did, Potter was already on his feet again, acting as though he had not been under the effects of the Cruciatus Curse mere moments before.

Riddle raised his wand to curse Potter again, but the boy gestured silently with his left hand, apparently having lost his wand in the back-lash of the Killing Curse, and Riddle found himself being violently hurled across the graveyard.

((()))

Harry wished Riddle had remained out of it for a few more seconds, he would have preferred to plant his sword in the bastard's heart rather than simply blast him away, but he could _not_ allow Riddle to put him under that curse again; later he would need to figure out how it had bypassed his barrier, and how to stop it. With Riddle out of the way, Harry rushed the two surviving Death Eaters in the immediate area.

One of them got off a piercing hex, taking him directly in the chest, but Harry's barrier absorbed _that_ spell, allowing him to ignore it completely, and then Harry was on top of the man, slashing at his throat with his sword. The man jerked back, raising his arms defensively, and losing his right arm halfway down the forearm, with his wand, for his trouble. He went down, screaming, and Harry moved on to the other man, who was trying to crawl away, but getting fouled in his robe.

Harry steeled his heart, and stabbed the man through the back, then raising his blade to stab again when he missed the heart the first time.

That was when he heard a female's scream.

((()))

Pain. Pain like nothing Hermione could even conceive of. When she had suddenly been faced with a dozen Death Eaters directly in front of her, she had instinctively raised Bellatrix's wand, and tried to defend herself. She'd even managed to disarm two of them before two disarming curses and a bludgeoning curse caught her, knocking her off her feet, and driving her breath right out of her. As they started dragging her back into the graveyard, she could feel blood trickling from her mouth, and was worried that her lungs had been damaged.

It wasn't until they were halfway back into the graveyard, though, that the Death Eaters saw their lord being hurled away by Harry, and one of them decided to take out his frustrations on her.

((()))

Rage boiled in Harry's veins as he saw one of the Death Eaters holding Hermione under the Cruciatus, and he sprinted up the row of graves towards them. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye from the direction he had hurled Voldemort, and swung his empty left hand, palm out, spewing out a stream of fire at the dark lord as he bore down on the death eaters.

((()))

Voldemort was frankly amazed by the amount of force the boy had been able to put behind a wandless banishing charm, and knew he had either cracked or broken bones when he had crashed down against a tombstone, breaking it in half, even his supernaturally strong body not up to taking that degree stress.

He easily deflected the small portion of the fire Potter had conjured, but the band of flame and smoke fouled his line of sight on his prey. Still though, he knew where Potter was going, and why.

"Keep, the Mudblood away from him!" He shouted, "Use the Cruciatus on him!"

((()))

The instant the word 'use' left Voldemort's mouth, Harry knew what the man was ordering, and knew there was no way all twelve Death Eaters would miss with Cruciatus curses at once. He couldn't use an area of effect spell on them, as Hermione was directly at their feet, and his Apparition was still blocked. So Harry improvised as best he could in the second and change he had available.

((()))

"_Crucio!"_ A dozen death eaters began to shout, though only ten finished.

Harry's short sword, being a Wakizashi, had no cross guard to speak of, and when he banished it at the Death Eaters with as much force as he could, it pierced directly through one's chest, tore through the Death Eater behind him's neck, and whistled off into the night, trailing blood and viscera as two more Death Eaters went down.

The Death Eaters saw the boy dive to the ground and go still as he banished the sword, and confused at the lack of screaming and thrashing, stopped casting.

((()))

Harry had, in fact, been struck by two of the Cruciatus curses, but even combined, they did not bear near the malice or power Voldemort's had alone. Every muscle in his body still clenched, including his jaw, which rendered him immobile, an effect the Death Eaters had not expected. The instant they let up on their spells, however, he rolled to his feet, casting with as much force as he could.

((()))

Death Eaters had been selected based upon their blood-status and willingness to commit to Voldemort's cause, not their combat prowess. Even they, however, knew to return fire when Potter cast a pair of blasting charms, taking off one of their number's arms, and blowing the other's chest apart in a gory mess. Potter still got off another pair of blasting hexes before their next round of _Crucio's_ found him, taking off the arms of two more Death Eaters, knocking them out of the fight.

This time, however, they did not stop casting, instead casting the Cruciatus Curse again, and again, and again.

((()))

Voldemort felt satisfaction rising in him once more, as he swiftly strode through the graveyard, healing his damaged ribs as he walked, approaching where four of his six remaining followers were holding Potter under the Cruciatus, one was tending to the three who had just lost arms, and the remaining one was using cutting curses to carve pieces off of Potter's muggleborn.

He stood over Potter, watching the boy's rigid form begin to tremble in pain for a full minute, before gesturing to his minions to stop.

((()))

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

_Pain._

And then less pain. It had been so long though now, since before the pain, that his body had begun to forget how to handle not-pain, and it was nearly a half-minute before his locked breathing freed up again, and he was able to perceive the world somewhat clearly through his senses, rather than as a haze.

"-Struggle," Voldemort was saying, "But in the end, _no one_, can triumph against Lord Voldemort."

A female scream, formed not just of pain this time, but of despair, the voice gurgling in a horribly wet way, punctuated Voldemort's world, and rage like Harry had never known in his life before. He snarled, and began to lurch to his feet, but was cut off by a single word from Voldemort.

"_Crucio_," The dark lord said concisely, and the pain came back again.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

And then less Pain. This time, Harry's mind cleared more quickly, but his senses less so, his brain struggling from the overload of pain signals running up and down his neurons, but he did not wait to be able to sense the world around him clearly.

Harry lurched forward, towards where he had heard Hermione's scream.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Harry's breathing had locked up again, and his body still ached now, even without the Cruciatus being active on him, but Harry lurched forward again.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

For the first time, Harry felt tempted to give up, to stop rather than invite the pain again, but discarded the thought before it was even fully formed, and lurched forward again.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

To Harry's frustration, this time his muscles were locked up when the pain ended, and he had to wait several seconds before lurching forward again.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

_Pain._

This time Harry had to wait longer before his muscles would respond to his commands, and his hearing cleared before he was able to move.

"Stay _down_ boy, or I will kill her before I kill you!"

In that moment, what Harry had chosen to live for, six years ago, when he had decided to protect a little girl he had never even learned the name of from his cousin's bullying crystallized within him, and roared to life.

Harry's magic reached out, and snatched Hermione, dragging her across the bloody cemetery grounds towards him, and he hurled himself over her.

Pain.

Pain.

_Pain._

_**Pain.**_

_**Pain.**_

Harry nearly passed out from oxygen lack before his breathing began again this time, and he could feel his heart pounding within him like an engine running twice the RPM's required to redline, threatening to fly apart within him. He struggled with his body, until he eventually was able to wrap himself protectively around the girl beneath him, and desperately tried to extend his barrier to cover her. Gradually his hearing came back, though his sight was taking longer to return through the haze of pain inundating his system.

"Give up the mud-blood, Potter," Voldemort said, and Harry could hear his sneer, "And I will make her death swift."

"Death. First." Harry rasped out harshly through gritted teeth, his lungs and vocal cords barely following his orders.

"No, Potter," Riddle said, "I _will_ make you _beg_ for death, but only _after_ I have killed the mud-blood in front of your eyes."

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

Pain.

This time, when the pain lessened, Harry vomited blood, barely able to avoid vomiting all over the girl he could feel, but not see, beneath him. He idly wondered if he would ever go long enough without the curse to get his vision back. He doubted it. Eventually, his hearing returned, and Voldemort spoke to him again.

"I can do this all night, Potter," Voldemort said in an almost pleasant tone of voice, "But you cannot last forever. Why do you resist?"

"I live…" Harry rasped out, his lungs short on breath, his vocal cords raw from the strain of the curse, "For a purpose. I would… do this… for anyone… in need… it is why… I live. Rather die, than surrender… anyone to… those like… _you…_ but _especially_… my best… friend…"

"I wonder," Voldemort replied thoughtfully after a moment, "Just how long I will have to hold you under the Cruciatus before you surrender that?"

"**You will never know, Tom Marvolo Riddle,"** A new voice called, echoing across the graveyard.

It was a woman's voice, and Harry was certain he had never heard it before, but something in him spoke of familiarity. A sound like liquid pouring came from beside his right ear, and Harry turned his still-blinded eyes towards it. He found, to some relief, that his vision was beginning to return, and he watched with growing clarity as the blood on the ground began to pool together, than rise up, twisting into the shape of a foot, then coalescing further upwards to form a leg.

"**You are not the only one who transcended death of the body on Halloween thirteen years ago,**" The voice continued, "**And I believe I have made far more productive use of my time without a body than you have yours.**"

The blood continued to expand into the shape of a woman, whatever magic that was driving the process magically expanding the amount of blood available to suit its purposes far beyond what either Harry, or Hermione, had bled, or even contained within their entire bodies.

"**Now you, the fool that you are, have taken my son's blood, ****_my_**** blood, and used it to build your new body.**"

Harry looked up as the head formed, trailing off into strands of hair that fell to the middle bloody incarnation's back. Green eyes opened, and glanced down at Harry for a moment, intensity of meaning and purpose beyond words passing between the near-identical eyes in that moment, before snapping up to spit the would-be dark lord with an unyielding gaze.

"And now," This time, the voice emerged from the reborn Lily Potter's mouth, "You will _pay_ for what you have done to my son."

Lily Potter raised her hand abruptly, and gestured sharply at the dark lord. Tom Riddle screamed as blood began to ooze out of his pores, his eyes, his mouth, his nose, all across his skin.

The six Death Eaters still standing uninjured raised their wands towards the bloody phantasm of Lily Potter, but Harry Potter cut them off with a sharp scream, and a wave of magic washed out from his body, shattering their knees, and dropping them screaming to the cemetery grass. Several of them attempted to raise their wands again, but a series of individual blasting curses removed their heads, cast without even hand motions, because Harry could not force his hands to move, and the threat they presented was removed with said heads.

Voldemort shouted a garbled curse, jabbing at Lily Potter with his wand, but she contemptuously batted aside the magic with a bare hand, then banished Voldemort with the other. Lily then crouched down beside Harry for a moment, and laid a hand over his forehead, craning her neck to place her mouth beside his ear.

"I Love you, son," She whispered quietly, then stood, ripping her hand away from Harry's forehead, and taking a dark mass of magic, that Harry could _feel_ the malevolence of, with it.

"Take care of Hermione," Lily commanded, then strode out after Voldemort.

Harry nodded, though his mother did not see it, and after carefully checking the surrounding Death Eaters to see if any posed a threat, and finding they were all either dead or unconscious, rolled off of Hermione.

It took him three tries to sit up so that he could examine Hermione, his trembling limbs not wanting to respond to his commands. When he did, he almost wished he hadn't been able to at all.

One of Hermione's eye sockets was half empty, the ruins of her right eye smeared across her cheek. Her nose had been broken, her hair half-burned off, and her left ear was missing. He could also tell through her bloody lips that several teeth were missing. Chunks of flesh had been cut out of both shoulders and forearms, and half her fingers and one thumb had been sliced off, the rest were crushed. Her robes and blouse were a bloody mess, mostly missing, and one of her breasts was outright gone; Harry could literally see her heart beating, and bleeding, through cracked ribs. Her abdomen had had 'mudblood whore' burned into it with some sort of fire spell, though the skin had not been pierced anywhere. Her pelvis was crushed, and her groin was a bloody ruin that Harry didn't want to inspect too closely. Her legs were perhaps the only part of her undamaged, and Harry had little doubt that that was only because the Death Eaters had been interrupted before they got that far, not for any lack of intent.

Any guilt Harry might have felt over becoming a killer died a premature death. He extended his magic to touch hers; it was feeble, fading quickly, and Harry knew with a stark terror that nothing, _nothing_ within his modest abilities at healing magic could handle this, and even if any of his healing potions had survived the grenades earlier, they would not be up to the task earlier.

Perhaps worst of all to him, however, was that her working eye was meeting his fiercely, and she was trying to _smile_ at him.

"I didn't tell them anything, Harry," She gurgled, her bloody smile broadening, "They kept asking about your spells and resistance, but I didn't tell them _anything_."

Harry would have screamed, but his vocal cords weren't up to the task, as his mind desperately searched for something, _anything_ he could use to save her life. Staring down at her in desperation and near-despair, his mind suddenly lit on something.

"Dobby!" He half-shouted, half croaked.

With a crack, the elf appeared beside him, and Harry turned to face him, desperate intensity in his eyes.

"Bring me the Stone!" Harry roared.

((()))

"Why won't you _die_ woman?" Voldemort snarled as he blasted another spell at her, which she again deflected with a bare hand.

"You," Lily Potter said, continuing to advance on him as he continued to retreat, "Do not know half as much about Magic as you think. Your magic comes from my son's blood, _my_ blood. Blood I shed for him, Blood he has now shed for another, blood that has been sacrificed, in Love, with no expectation of return for oneself. Such a creature as you has no business carrying such blood."

Voldemort screamed in rage, with a faint edge of desperation, as he continued to retreat, firing curse after curse after curse, none of which had any more effect on the Potter woman. She simply continued to advance on him, until eventually he tripped over backwards, and fell.

Fell onto the mutilated bodies of his Death Eaters, by the Cauldron where he had been reborn, the minions that Potter had killed earlier. Suddenly, Voldemort realized that all of his Death Eaters, _all_ of them, every last one, that had come to his summons tonight, lay dead in the graveyard, and he felt very, very much alone. In the long moment where Tom Riddle's mind was lost in that sudden epiphany of loneliness, Lily Potter reached him.

"My son had a harsher life than yours ever was," Lily said, dragging Voldemort's attention back to her, "But where you chose to be the villain to try to deal with the pain of your childhood, my son chose to protect others from what he had experienced. You chose to be the Villain, he became the Hero."

And with that, she bent down and touched him, and his body disintegrated into a bloody mist, the blood rapidly separating and joining her bloody form, giving it sharper features, definition, while the rest of the mist fell to dust on the ground, leaving only the wraith of Voldemort.

"This fight is over, Riddle," Lily Potter said, standing upright again, "And you have lost."

"I will return to fight anew," Riddle's wraith said, "And I will return as many times as it takes until I triumph!"

"No," Lily said, eyeing the wraith with distaste, "You won't. Do you remember a binding oath you made to Harry, before you were reborn? Have you seen the condition your followers left Hermione in?"

Dawning horror flew across the Wraith's phantasmal features, Lily smiling at the ghostly wretch in grim satisfaction, before speaking to it one last time.

"I declare your fight with my son, Harry Potter, to be complete. You have lost."

With that, she turned and swiftly strode back towards her son, Voldemort's screams echoing behind her as his magic was painfully stripped from what remained of him in the mortal world.

((()))

"'Love you, 'arry," Hermione said faintly, her one eye gazing sadly up at Harry as she continued to bleed out.

Harry stared down at her, trembling arms reaching clumsily around to hold her mangled head.

"A-and I Love you," He said, the trembling in his body causing him to stutter slightly.

Hermione smiled again, ignoring the pain in her ruined face. A part of her wished that Harry meant that in a romantic way, even though she knew he didn't, and still wasn't really ready for that kind of thing anyways. _Still_, she thought, _there are worse ways to die, then beside someone who Loves you enough to die for you._

Then Dobby reappeared with a crack, and proffered a small lumpy red rock to Harry, who took it in trembling hands, and after hesitating for a moment, pressed it with bloody hands against the small, spurting hole in Hermione's heart. Nothing happened, but he continued to hold it there, not knowing what else to do, and was still holding it there when his mother arrived.

"Heavens," Lily whispered quietly from above and behind him, quickly seating herself next to him and wrapping one arm around his trembling shoulders, "I didn't realize it was so bad."

Tears began to leak from Harry's eyes, and phlegm began to clog his airways as desperate hope began to fade into despairing grief. The clogging in his airways mounted, until he coughed, bringing up blood from his damaged throat as well as phlegm, and a few drops of the blood splattered onto the stone. The instant it came into contact with his blood, the stone began to glow, and Harry could feel the magic in it tingling, vibrating up and down his arms.

"There is power in the blood of sacrifice," His mother whispered beside him.

The stone melted into a luminous puddle, and poured itself into Hermione's heart through the wound that had, a moment before, been leaking her lifeblood out. The instant that it was fully within the battered organ, her entire body seized up, then started to tremble, and Harry's magical senses nearly overwhelmed him with input as her body began to glow. Flesh rippled and flowed, melting across her form and sliding swiftly back into place as potent blood magic, charged with life, powered by sacrifice and Love, coursed through Hermione Granger's body.

Thirteen seconds after his blood touched the stone, Hermione's body lay wholly intact before Harry Potter. He was so relieved that he didn't notice his hands, which had been holding the stone in place, had been displaced to rest upon her bare breast. He lunged forward, wrapping her in a hug and crying. Smiling in relief, his mother bent over behind him to wrap both of the children in a hug, as the girl fiercely clung to the two Potters above her.

((()))

"Therefore, in your deliberations, when seeking to determine the military conditions, let them be made the basis of a comparison, in this wise:

(1) Which of the two sovereigns is imbued with the Moral law?

(2) Which of the two generals has most ability?

(3) With whom lie the advantages derived from Heaven and Earth?

(4) On which side is discipline most rigorously enforced?

(5) Which army is stronger?

(6) On which side are officers and men more highly trained?

(7) In which army is there the greater constancy both in reward and punishment?

By means of these seven considerations I can forecast victory or defeat."

-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 1, Section 12-14

End Chapter 11

((()))

AN: Hmmm. I think that was 5600 words in 3 and a half hours. Pretty much my most intense writing session ever. And I did it like that 'cause one of our players was late for our gaming group tonight. Go figure. Since I didn't manage to pack all the post-climax and wrap-up into this chapter, there is definitely going to be an epilogue.

Some of this, such as the ultimate fate of the stone, and Lily Potter manifesting to rip out the Horcrux and kick Voldemort's ass, have been in the plan either since the beginning, or near the beginning. Other things, like Voldemort forgetting to tell his minions 'don't hurt the girl,' and Harry forgetting 'your minions don't hurt the girl' in the oath, just naturally progressed as a result of what the characters would do. I had intended for Voldemort to be one of the villains in the sequel, but this is how the story developed appropriate to the characters, so it's what happened. I firmly believe that Voldemort is quite insane by the time he's re-embodied, and hopefully successfully presented him as such. Most of the story, almost everything since McGonagall told Dumbledore off back in chapter 3 or 4, I forget which, has been 'this is appropriate to the characters.'

There've been a lot of comments about H/Hr shipping going on here or wanting more of it, so I'd like to make something clear. The level of friendship, trust, and dependability Harry and Hermione have shown in this story, is how I believe *friendships* should be. Yes, Hermione has been crushing on Harry, and honestly, odds are a romance of sorts will develop in the sequel, but as far as I'm concerned, this is the kind of thing a healthy friendship should look like. Such healthy friendships are so sadly lacking in western society these days though, that people who end up in such a relationship tend to immediately assume it to be a romance thing.

Of course, I also believe that a healthy romance can only be built out of a friendship relationship with that kind of trust. Not to say that romances that didn't start there can't build that sort of trust in time, but if you can't be a friend of the heart, why would you want to try for romance? I've had three burnt out romances, and two almost romances, and what's killed the ones I've had post high-school, has been lack of common ground, and lack of trust. Common ground you can build if you've got trust, without trust, you've got nothing, so the trust has to come first.


	13. Epilogue

AN: Warning, lots of AN at the end.

Epilogue.

((()))

Lucius Malfoy approached Harry, Lily, and Hermione cautiously, careful to make enough noise to be readily detectable. He had discarded his black cloak before entering the graveyard, and the only Death Eater masks around belonged to the dead and dying littered across the graveyard. It was not hard for Malfoy to recognize the trio's disheveled and worn state, but Lily and Harry still turned to face him before he had closed within a dozen paces, turning the Granger girl with them.

"I am not here to fight, Mister Potter," Lucius said, holding out empty hands to signify his lack of threat.

"I know, Lucius," Lily said as she collected a black cloak that was not too heavily bloodstained from one of the downed Death Eaters, and eyed the Malfoy up and down, "You never were the suicidal sort. Age has treated you well."

"And death has treated you well, you do not appear to have aged a day during your mortality," Lucius replied promptly, "I am here, however, to speak with your son of our prior agreement."

"I have seen and heard _everything_ that has happened around my son since Voldemort struck me with a killing curse thirteen years ago," Lily replied flatly, wrapping the cloak around her bloody flesh.

Lucius was silent for a few moments, ignoring the weight of Hermione and the Potter's stares while he considered.

"I watched from the perimeter of the graveyard," Lucius said, "As a fourteen-year old boy slaughtered thirty of the most prominent purebloods of Magical Britain, and the specter of a twenty-one year old woman defeated the most powerful Dark Lord of our age. I do not wish trouble with _either_ of you."

"G-good," Harry said, "Because I've l-learned from this fight, and next time I'll be more lethal. I still intend to leave after my OWLs."

"Then our deal remains in place," Lucius said, nodding.

The trio of non-purebloods stared at him, and he gazed at each of them measuringly in turn, before nodding, and walking back towards the center of the graveyard.

"Lucius," Harry called after a moment, and the man paused, looking back over his shoulder, "You remember why I didn't kill you the first time I met you?"

After a moment of thought, the Malfoy patriarch nodded.

"Remember," Harry said, "That no longer applies."

Lucius nodded, and continued towards the center of the graveyard.

Once he was out of ready earshot, Lily turned her attention to the young adults with her.

"Now," She said, standing up and then pulling the other two to their feet, "You two have both been through quite the ordeal, and it's time for you to be examined by an experienced healer. I know quite a bit of basic healing, but nowhere near enough to deal with the Cruciatus, or what happened to you, Hermione."

She paused for a long moment, closing her eyes, before speaking again.

"I have been bodiless and unable to Apparate for thirteen years," She said, opening her eyes again to look at Harry, "Is Riddle's ward still up, or am I simply failing in my effort?"

"It's still up," Harry said, leaning heavily on Hermione and his mother, as his legs refused to properly hold his weight.

Lily nodded.

"Let's get to the edge of them then," She said, and helped Hermione support Harry as they walked out of the Little Hangleton graveyard.

Voldemort's magical power, while he had still possessed it, had been formidable, and it took several minutes for them to reach the edge of the wards, at which point Harry Apparated them all to the front gate of Hogwarts.

((()))

"Hello, Voldemort," Lucius said as he approached the moaning spirit near the center of the graveyard.

"Lucius," The spirit hissed, "Why did you not come when I called?"

"Fifteen years ago," Lucius said, "I joined you as a servant. You were a powerful Dark Lord, rising to power, supporting the cause I believed in, and I was barely a man. You were charismatic, persuasive, and near-peerless in ability."

Lucius stopped speaking for a moment, beginning to circle the wraith before continuing.

"Two years ago, Harry Potter came to my attention. He was twelve at the time, and held me at sword-point. I did not even manage to _touch_ my wand before he had my life in his hands. This, of course, piqued my interest, and I began looking both into his, and into _your_ backgrounds. I discovered that he was raised amongst his muggle relatives, and that his uncle was serving a life sentence in prison for child abuse, and attempted murder.

"You," Lucius continued, his voice and posture full of aristocratic poise, "I already know had once carried the name Tom Marvolo Riddle, from the diary you entrusted to my care. I discovered that you, too had been raised by muggles, in far from ideal conditions. To my considerable surprise, when I looked further into your past, not an easy task by any means, I found that you were a half-blood."

The wounded spirit sneered, and opened its mouth to speak, but Lucius Malfoy silenced it with a flick of his wand, which Voldemort had _not_ seen in his hand a moment ago.

"It is interesting, really," Lucius pressed on, continuing to circle the wraith, "That of the three most powerful British wizards in the last century, only one is a Pureblood, and we are all well aware that Dumbledore is quite prominently in favor of muggle-born rights, and uses his positions of influence to champion such. So, when you called your followers to you tonight, I chose to watch, to see if you were still worthy of being called 'master.'"

Lucius Malfoy stopped circling the silent specter, and surveyed the destroyed and mutilated bodies of Death Eaters strewn across the graveyard.

"You had thirty of your followers to aid you," Malfoy said, grimly, "My peers, many of them my friends, and they were slaughtered by a fourteen year old boy. Even with their aid, you would not have won save that they held a hostage for you, and even _then_, it took only a single muggle-born woman to turn the tide once more, in admittedly the single most dramatic event I have ever witnessed in my life. This is the end of whatever you have been doing in the thirteen years since you lost power."

Malfoy turned and faced the spirit directly.

"Whereas I, _I_," Malfoy said, "Rule Magical Britain in all but name. Something _you_ failed to accomplish at the height of your power."

Malfoy turned his back on the spirit, and began striding towards the edge of the graveyard.

"The answer to your question, Tom Riddle," Malfoy said loudly, without bothering to look back, "Is that I did not answer your call because you are no longer my master. If you regain your magic and body, I may treat with you as an equal, but now I have _no_ master but myself."

Behind him, the specter silently raged, but was utterly powerless to actually _do_ anything.

((()))

When Hermione Granger and Lily Potter entered the tournament area all but carrying Harry Potter, the near-chaos amongst tournament officials and the crowd turned into complete and total pandemonium. At this point, Minerva McGonagall decided she had had quite enough of this nonsense, and decided to bring some order to her school.

**Boom.**

Everyone in the area, save Harry, was momentarily deafened by the massive skyburst McGonagall had conjured directly over herself. She waited a few moments for people's hearing to start to return, before addressing the crowd.

"This nonsense will cease at once," She firmly declared, her voice augmented by a _Sonorus_ charm, "And you will all make way for me to escort Mister Potter and company to the Hospital Wing. An announcement will be made later tonight, or tomorrow morning in the Great Hall as to what has happened."

The crowd parted before McGonagall's stern glare, and she quickly moved to them, and then began escorting them back to the castle. Lily could feel Harry's still-spastic muscles tensing as they moved through the crowd, and his magic pulsing beneath his skin as he constantly scanned the surroundings for threats. Hermione still hadn't said anything since she had been healed, which was beginning to worry Lily, but she could tell from her grip on the girl that she wasn't trembling, and her pulse was steady, so she was confident the girl would be fine until Pomfrey had a look at her.

McGonagall's glare also served to silence any questions thrown by bystanders, or at least cow their desire to pursue an answer until the quartet had passed. Within a few minutes, they had passed into the castle, then up to the Hospital Wing, where Pomfrey promptly took control of the situation.

"All three of you, beds, now," The Mediwitch said, staring at only briefly at the bloody Lily Potter before helping the unsteady Harry into a bed.

"Trembling and fatigue," Pomfrey said after a moment's visual inspection, and whipped out her wand, beginning to cast diagnostic charms, "What happened to you?"

"Cruciatus," Lily said quietly, "Around five minutes worth in nine or ten exposures."

For a moment, Pomfrey became very, very still.

"Harry," She said softly, "I need to sedate you. Can you lower your barrier?"

Harry nodded, closed his eyes and visibly focused for a moment, then nodded again. Pomfrey gently tapped his brow with her wand, and Harry's entire body relaxed utterly into sleep. For the first time since Lily's new body had formed in the graveyard, Harry's trembling and twitching stopped.

"Merlin," Pomfrey breathed, "I'd hoped to never see this in a student."

"He was under the curse too long, wasn't he?" Lily asked quietly.

Pomfrey nodded silently, moving over to check on Hermione.

"Judging by how quiet you are," Pomfrey said as she looked the girl over, then began casting diagnostic spells, "You've had another near brush with death, haven't you young lady?"

Hermione nodded, but said nothing.

"Well," Pomfrey said after a moment, "Physically, you're fit as a fiddle. Almost excessively healthy, actually. I'll come back to you after I've had a look at Lily."

"I'm not entirely sure what you'll find," Lily said as the older woman moved over to her, "You should probably check to make sure that I _have_ the regular set of organs first."

"I assume," Pomfrey said as she began a more involved series of diagnostic spells, "That has something to do with how your dead body was recovered from Godric's Hollow thirteen years ago?"

"I am rather curious about that myself," McGonagall said, interjecting herself into the conversation for the first time since they had entered the infirmary.

"Understandably so," Lily said, "Have either of you ever studied Soul or Blood Magic?"

"I looked over the basics of blood magic once to see if it had any potential for healing," Pomfrey said, while McGonagall shook her head curtly, "Other than that, nothing."

"What I am now," Lily said, "Is a product of both. I'll spare you the technical details, neither of you would understand them without a solid grounding in the fields anyways, but in essence, I used myself as a sacrifice for a protection ritual that had unintended consequences. The intention of the ritual, was to protect Harry against any magic cast with intent to kill or maim him, and have its destructive force turned back against the aggressor. It was fortunate for me that Voldemort offered to spare me when he came for Harry, as him subsequently killing me when I refused strengthened the effect of the ritual drastically."

"How so?" McGonagall asked when Lily paused to gather her thoughts.

"First," Lily said, "It established the context; I did not need to die, but voluntarily sacrificed myself for my son's benefit regardless. Second, in both attacking personally, and using the Killing Curse on first me, then Harry, the effects of the ritual were optimized to protect against both him, and that curse in particular. Third, the curse itself had unforeseen effects. Tell me, do any of you know _how_ the Killing Curse works?"

Nobody answered.

"I doubted it," Lily said, "In truth, I doubt any living being other than myself understands. Simply put, it severs the connection between body and soul. The effect this lead to that I had not expected, was that the ritual, in order to protect my son from the same curse as had killed me, bound my spirit to his body, essentially wrapping my essence around his to protect him. When Riddle cast the Killing Curse on Harry, it actually struck me, and attempted to sever the connection between my soul and my body, to no effect, as my connection to my body had already been severed. Then the retributive portion of the ritual came into effect, destroying Voldemort's body. Unfortunately, he had already used soul magic of his own to gain a form of immortality. He managed to gain a new body tonight, which is why we're all in such rough shape."

"Merlin," McGonagall breathed, "He's back? Why didn't you say so before, I need to-"

"No," Lily said, cutting McGonagall off abruptly in a way that the twenty-two-year-old Lily from thirteen years before, that she still _looked_ like, never would have, "_Had_ a new body. He formed it in part out of Harry's blood, and it was actually quite easy for me to destroy as a consequence. Besides that, he is not only a disembodied wraith once more, but he has also been stripped of his magic, due to breaking a binding oath to Harry."

"Well," Pomfrey said, interjecting as she completed her scans, "According to my diagnostics, you have an entirely functional human body. Completely without scars, muscular or skeletal wear, or, in fact, any sign you've spent any more time in this world than a newborn."

"I think," McGonagall said, "You should simply tell us the full story of what happened after Harry disappeared, start to finish."

Lily did.

((()))

By the time George Granger arrived at the gates of Hogwarts with Andromeda Tonks and his new French research assistant, Marie Legrande, the crowd had spread across most of the grounds, and was thick with worried whispers. Some considered moving to impede their progress across the grounds, but George Granger was almost frothing at the mouth in barely-restrained rage, and had… _something_ in his hands. Nobody was quite certain just what it was, but it seemed to involve a great deal of electricity, and was causing his hair to stand on end.

"This way to the Hospital Wing," Andromeda Tonks said when they reached the castle itself, and began to lead the other two into the rather bewildering maze of Hogwarts.

Outside of the infirmary entrance, they found Hagrid standing a rather imposing guard.

"'lo Andromeda," He greeted as they approached, "Why're you here?"

"Hermione Granger was abducted from our care several hours ago," Andromeda said, "I've been trying to trace her with tracking spells ever since then. The first successful casting placed her in the Hogwarts Infirmary."

"Gimme a minute," Hagrid said, "I'll ask McGonergall if'n you kin come in."

Hagrid opened the door and stuck his head in for a few moments. The trio of new arrivals could see his chest moving as his lungs worked for speech, but hear nothing, marking the presence of a silencing spell over the infirmary door, and probably walls too.

"Right," Hagrid said after pulling his head back out, "McGonagall said ter have you go right on in."

The Granger, Tonks, and Legrande all quickly entered the infirmary, and Andromeda nearly had a heart attack.

"Lily Potter?" She breathed out, disbelievingly.

"Yes," The red-headed woman said, turning to look at the three, "Hello Andromeda, George, Marie."

None of the three managed a response, and Lily smiled at them, amusement twinkling in her green eyes.

"I've been keeping a watch over Harry during my discorporation," She said, "As best I've been able. Everything he has seen or heard, I have also."

Andromeda boggled, mouth opening and closing as she fought for words, but none came.

"Rather a shock, isn't it?" McGonagall said wryly, from where she was seated between the bed Lily sat on, and the one Harry lay on, sipping at a glass of whisky, "You may wish to take a seat yourself."

"Why won't she say anything?" George Granger said, abruptly drawing everyone's attention to where he stood beside Hermione's bed, his… _device_ no longer so blatantly electrical.

"Hysterical muteness," Pomfrey said promptly, "She's been through a life-threatening situation, and is in a sort of mental shock. I saw this before, after her experience with the Troll, first year. She'll be fine."

"I think," George Granger said, "You'd better fill us in."

So they did.

((()))

Hours later, after the recent arrivals had been briefed, a progression of Tournament officials, Aurors, and other Ministry personnel had been filled in as much as McGonagall saw fit to do so, eventually, Pomfrey and McGonagall forced everyone except the Potters and Hermione out of the infirmary. Once the various gawkers had been pushed out, McGonagall and Pomfrey retreated as well, into Pomfrey's office to give Lily and Hermione some privacy.

Once they were alone, Lily quietly moved over to Hermione's bed, where the girl still lay, silent, but very much awake, and sat down, pulling the Hermione into her lap.

"Thank you," She said softly, gently stroking the silent girl's hair, "You've done more for my son than anyone else since James and I were killed. He'd already chosen the hero's path when you started to help him, but there are so many things he's learned from you, that he might have been deprived of his whole life otherwise."

Hermione trembled, and clutched at Lily, beginning to shiver.

"H-h-happy to help," Hermione whispered, barely audible, even in the silent infirmary.

Lily smiled, and pulled the girl into a closer embrace.

"I'm also quite aware that you've taken a fancy to him," Lily said, a hint of teasing in her tone.

Hermione's shivering stopped, and she began to blush.

"Oh," Lily said, chuckling, "You'll find no disapproval from me. My son is quite the young man, and saving your life, twice now, is quite the way to draw a girl's attention, isn't it?"

Hermione blushed more.

"If the rest of your actions hadn't shown me that I can trust you with my son romanticly," Lily continued, in a more serious tone, "Two things would. First, how you handled the Yule Ball. You most probably could have convinced Harry to take you as his date, but instead, you encouraged him to go with young Gabrielle, and arranged for every girl that he is well acquainted with to have a dance with him. In doing so, you proved that though you desire him, you are not going to let your desire push you into stupidly possessive behavior."

Lily pulled Hermione up, and turned the girl to face her before continuing.

"Second," She said, intense gaze boring into Hermione's eyes, "You proved that you were not only willing to die for him, but die _painfully_. Harry wasn't really in any shape to see or hear, but I know that they put you under the Cruciatus three times before they resorted to cutting up your body."

A shiver ran through Hermione at the reminder of what she had suffered through earlier that night, and Lily just held her for a minute before speaking again.

"In the end," Lily said, "Real Love, the most important Love, involves looking out for what the other needs before oneself. The first time Harry saved your life, he didn't really know what he was getting into, whether or not he was really in any danger from the Troll. Tonight though, tonight…"

Lily trailed off for a long moment before continuing.

"Tonight, you both _knew_ you were almost certain to die, trying to protect the other. But you both made the sacrifice anyways. _That_ is Love. Harry is only beginning to open his mind to the romantic, and even as he does, he may never seek you out in that way, but whether he does or not,"

"I already know he Loves me," Hermione said, "He laid down his life for me."

"And y-you did for me," Harry added from his bed, where neither of the women had realized he was awake.

Hermione started at Harry's unexpected words, but Lily just smiled, and carried Hermione over to Harry's bed, where she wrapped them both in her embrace, which quickly developed into a group hug, all of them holding each other.

"I Love you, Harry, Hermione," Lily said gently.

"I Love you Harry, Lily," Hermione whispered softly.

There was a long pause, and the two young women could feel Harry physically struggling with himself, before he spoke.

"I L-love you, Hermione, mum," Harry said, and if his words were a little late, they were utterly heartfelt.

And they continued to hold each other until they fell asleep, first Harry, then Hermione, and finally Lily, after she wrapped Harry's blankets around them all, and lay down with the two arranged on and beside her. That night, despite the permanent damage to his nervous system, Harry slept with more peace than he had in thirteen years, knowing that he was held in Love.

((()))

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails."

1 Corinthians 13:4-8, The Bible.

The End, of Brutal Harry.

((()))

(Partially revised) Author's Note: In the end, it all comes down to Love. Not the sappy, romantic type of love, not the 'I love tacos' kind of love, but the "I will lay down my whole life for you," kind of Love. The kind of Love that shows someone that they're _worth_ something, that shows that you are _cared_ about. The kind of Love that you see when a man comes home from work, and his wife greets him with a smile and a kind word. The kind of Love where a man gets up in the morning, and _every_ morning, makes coffee for his wife (who is _not_ a morning person, and _needs_ that cup of joe to get going), and if she's awake before he leaves for work, brings it to her in bed. Or maybe those roles are flipped by gender; I don't know.

The kind of Love where a friend notices, even when you're hiding it, that you're down, and ambushes you with an invitation to play your favorite video game, or go out for pizza, or just tries to make you laugh. The kind of Love where even when you've done something to really piss one of your friends off, maybe accidentally, or maybe even on _purpose_, and they don't get angry, or shout, or yell, because even if you've hurt them, they _care_ too much about you, they _value _you too much to want to hurt you, even when you've hurt them.

The kind of Love that is so very, very, almost non-existently rare in every place I've ever lived, every community I've ever been a part of, even churches. I'm a Christian, a serious, 'I'll die a bloody death before I surrender my faith' Christian, and let me tell you, Christianity is all *about* that kind of Love. Hence the whole 'Christian' meaning follower of Christ, who literally died on a cross thing. It is endlessly frustrating to me that I see it so rarely amongst people who call themselves Christians, especially those who are or have been my friends and family. Instead, in the western world, and particularly America, the Church has a reputation for hypocracy, being judgmental, and all kinds of things that are *not* amazing, incredible, life-transforming Love.

This story, I hope, has given a perspective on how Love does, and doesn't work. In cannon Harry Potter, both Riddle and Harry had crapsack youths, but one became the hero, and the other the villain. I first started reading Harry Potter when I was Harry's age in the book series at the time; my Aunt (who tends to be good at picking such things), bought me the first two Harry Potter books for a birthday present, and I loved them. The third was just coming out then, so I snapped that one up to. They were wonderful books to me then, a literally magical world, exciting adventures, fantastic creatures, and a fair bit of humor too.

Now, thirteen years later, I'm a very different person. This cold and harsh world has beaten most of the naive innocence out of me, and a more intelligent eye has long since perceived the many and well-documented flaws within the Harry Potter canon. To me, at this time, the most egregious of all flaws in the series, is Harry himself, as a character. Tom Riddle grows up being bullied, and in a quite believable and natural progression, develops into the bully himself when he gains the power, and then as he is consistently able to get away with more and more without being caught or punished, and no one ever reaches out and connects with him, turns from bully to tyrant.

Harry, on the other hand, deals with years of far worse, with absolutely no noticeable effect. Riddle was the victim of incompetent and/or indifferent administration at an orphanage, and run of the mill bullies who had him as one of their preferred targets, amongst many. Harry, on the other hand, was the victim of targeted emotional abuse, belittlement, and debasement by his blood-relatives, blatantly endorsed physical violence by his cousin, being kept in inhumane conditions, and literally worked like a slave. And Rowling writes exactly no emotional response or fall-out from this whatsoever.

Harry, in essence, becomes the hero, because he is not functionally human at all. Throughout the series, with some minor exceptions in books three and four, he never makes any particular effort to develop his own abilities, and gets through practically every peril and circumstance via sheer luck, or plot-ordained powers. Or, in book five, his foes being so utterly incompetent that a larger number of Death Eaters get their asses handed to them by a group of school children. If you take an honest look at the book series, the hero of the story should have been _Hermione_, who consistently pushes the other two main characters into doing productive things (schoolwork in all books), solves the mysteries for them (book two), has the necessary equipment to make things happen (book three), takes sensible precautions (Firebolt in book 3, DA in book 5, Potions book in book 6, all of book 7. ALL of it.), and has every single bit of equipment, supplies, and spell-knowledge they need to last at all in the last book.

Harry is one of the worst main male characters I've ever read, after Edward Cullen, and worse than the sparkle-pire, most people _don't understand why_.

Harry _should_ be an emotional wreck. He _should_ be in need of years of recovery and healing from what he experienced with the Dursleys in canon. Realistically, he would have fallen in to one of four results, a bully like Riddle, a complete social recluse terrified of interaction with any other human being, a broken spirit desperate to please any and everyone in order to avoid punishment, or something more like what I have written.

Over the course of my writing, a few people that I had read my story and give me feedback IRL, noted that the sort of treatment Harry has had almost universally retards learning and growth in children, rather than spurs it, and they're right. I wrote an exaggeratedly bad childhood for Harry to make it clear in no uncertain terms, he has had _shit_ happen in his life. I made it so horrific, that there are something like 4 times as many hits on the Prologue, as on the subsequent chapters, as I scared off readers with how ugly it was. From the prologue on, however, I wrote Harry as a boy who made some of the hardest, most demanding choices that *could* be made.

Let me make this perfectly clear to those of you who have no real understanding of Child Psychology, or Psychology in general, Harry is an _extreme_ example of a child who endured hardship, and thrived in spite of it. Pretty much any child who goes through similar circumstances, or even 'merely' what Harry went through in canon, is going to end up as a total mess. And the Harry I wrote, in spite of being as hardcore, heroic, and enduring as I could bring myself to believe possible, is _still_ an incredible mess.

It takes him _six years_ to open himself up enough to tell someone he loves them, _after_ the insane abuse stops. That's doing _damn well_ for an abused child. Of course, that's Harry only saying it when he _means_ it, and is willing to be emotionally vulnerable enough to admit it. A lot of people who were subject to varying degrees of abuse will throw 'I love you' around without any real weight to the words, or clue what they're talking about.

Harry's got a long way to go yet; that's a large part of why there's going to be a sequel. This story is actually barely fleshed out enough to be what I'd call a 'story' proper, but then, I didn't get my start writing fanfiction, and most of what's missing, is assumed knowledge of canon and etc. on the part of the reader base. When I get around to the sequel though, it'll be a more full-fledged story, with multiple main and supporting characters, attention paid to plot threads aside from those that directly apply to Harry, and etc. Part of that will mean that when I do get around to working on and posting that, it'll either not start being posted until I'm through writing a lot of it, or it'll post very slowly.

In order to keep this from being the eternal AN from hell, I'm going to get out a last few things and then cut this off.

For those of you wondering, yes Lily is back to stay.

Other things were in the original AN, but have been revised out as they are now irrelevant.

Finally, I'm going to start posting a number of different things, shorts, partially-developed plot ideas, and other things, native to any and every fandom I feel inspired to write in or with. At the least, you'll see snippets of Harry Potter, Familiar of Zero, and probably eventually a Full Metal Panic/Ranma/Sailor Moon crossover I started a long time ago. I've even got 40 pages or so of a Naruto fic that's been on my hard drive for a year and a half now, that may see the light of day. These things, if and when I do post them, will generally _not_ be long-term stories I intend to complete, but more along the lines of the partial-fic compilations you see on a lot of author's profiles, though one or two may be longer projects that I simply come back to and add to when I'm in the mood for.

As some final words on Brutal Harry; I hope the story showed you some Hope for real Love in this life.

And as a parting thought, a brief exchange between me and my roommate/beta:

Me to roommate: "That was a strange sound."

Roommate: "I killed a coyote with a shovel."


End file.
